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CRITICAL 

AND 

HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Lectures  delivered  at  Columbia   University 


BY 

EDWARD    MACDOWELL 

EDITED    BY 

W.   J.    BALTZELL 


ARTHUR   P.    SCHMIDT 

BOSTON  LEIPZIG  NEW  YORK 

1 20  BoYLSTON  Street  ii  West  36TH  Street 

Copyright,  191 2,  by  Arthur  P.  Souodt 


2883     *•!" 


Copyright,  191 2, 

BY 

ARTHUR   P.   SCHMIDT 

A.P.S.  9384 


Stanbope  ^stm 

F.    H.GILSON    COMPANT 
BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


Music 
Libi-ary 


PREFACE 


The  present  work  places  before  the  public  a  phase  of  the 
professional  activity  of  Edward  MacDowell  quite  different 
from  that  through  which  his  name  became  a  household 
word  in  musical  circles,  that  is,  his  work  as  a  composer. 
In  the  chapters  that  follow  we  become  acquainted  with 
him  in  the  capacity  of  a  writer  on  phases  of  the  history 
and  aesthetics  of  music. 

It  was  in  1896  that  the  authorities  of  Columbia  Uni- 
versity offered  to  him  the  newly  created  Chair  of  Music, 
for  which  he  had  been  strongly  recommended  as  one  of 
the  leading  composers  of  America.  After  much  thought 
he  accepted  the  position,  and  entered  upon  his  duties 
with  the  hope  of  accomplishing  much  for  his  art  in  the 
favorable  environment  which  he  fully  expected  to  find. 
The  aim  of  the  instruction,  as  he  planned  it,  was:  "First, 
to  teach  music  scientifically  and  technically,  with  a  view 
to  training  musicians  who  shall  be  competent  to  teach  and 
compose.  Second,  to  treat  music  historically  and  aestheti- 
cally as  an  element  of  liberal  culture."  In  carrying  out 
his  plans  he  conducted  a  course,  which,  while  "outlining 
the  purely  technical  side  of  music,"  was  intended  to  give 
a  "general  idea  of  music  from  its  historical  and  aesthetic 
side."  Supplementing  this,  as  an  advanced  course,  he 
also  gave  one  which  took  up  the  development  of  musical 
forms,  piano  music,  modem  orchestration  and  symphonic 


IV  PREFACE 

forms,  impressionism,  the  relationship  of  music  to  the 
other  arts,"  with  much  other  material  necessary  to  form 
an  adequate  basis  for  music  criticism. 

It  is  a  matter  for  sincere  regret  that  Mr.  MacDowell 
put  in  permanent  form  only  a  portion  of  the  lectures 
prepared  for  the  two  courses  just  mentioned.  While 
some  were  read  from  manuscript,  others  were  given  from 
notes  and  illustrated  with  musical  quotations.  This  was 
the  case,  very  largely,  with  the  lectures  prepared  for  the 
advanced  course,  which  included  extremely  valuable  and 
individual  treatment  of  the  subject  of  the  piano,  its  litera- 
ture and  composers,  modern  music,  etc. 

A  point  of  view  which  the  lecturer  brought  to  bear 
upon  his  subject  was  that  of  a  composer  to  whom  there 
were  no  secrets  as  to  the  processes  by  which  music  is  made. 
It  was  possible  for  him  to  enter  into  the  spirit  in  which 
the  composers  both  of  the  earlier  and  later  periods  con- 
ceived their  works,  and  to  value  the  completed  composi- 
tions according  to  the  way  in  which  he  found  that  they 
had  followed  the  canons  of  the  best  and  purest  art.  It  is 
this  unique  attitude  which  makes  the  lectures  so  valuable 
to  the  musician  as  well  as  to  the  student. 

The  Editor  would  also  call  attention  to  the  intellectual 
qualities  of  Mr.  MacDowell,  which  determined  his  atti- 
tude toward  any  subject.  He  was  a  poet  who  chose  to 
express  himself  through  the  medium  of  music  rather  than 
in  some  other  way.  For  example,  he  had  great  natural 
facility  in  the  use  of  the  pencil  and  the  brush,  and  was 
strongly  advised  to  take  up  painting  as  a  career.  The 
volume  of  his  poetical  writings,  issued  several  years  ago, 


PREFACE  V 

is  proof  of  his  power  of  expression  in  verse  and  lyric  forms. 
Above  these  and  animating  them  were  what  Mr.  Lawrence 
Gilman  terms  "his  uncommon  faculties  of  vision  and 
imagination."  What  he  thought,  what  he  said,  what  he 
wrote,  was  determined  by  the  poet's  point  of  view,  and 
this  is  evident  on  nearly  every  page  of  these  lectures. 

He  was  a  wide  reader,  one  who,  from  natural  bent, 
dipped  into  the  curious  and  out-of-the-way  comers  of 
literature,  as  will  be  noticed  in  his  references  to  other 
works  in  the  course  of  the  lectures,  particularly  to  Row- 
botham's  picturesque  and  fascinating  story  of  the  forma- 
tive period  of  music.  Withal  he  was  always  in  touch  with 
contemporary  affairs.  With  the  true  outlook  of  the  poet 
he  was  fearless,  individual,  and  even  radical  in  his  views. 
This  spirit,  as  indicated  before,  he  carried  into  his  lec- 
tures, for  he  demanded  of  his  pupils  that  above  all  they 
should  be  prepared  to  do  their  own  thinking  and  reach 
their  own  conclusions.  He  was  accustomed  to  say  that 
we  need  in  the  United  States,  a  public  that  shall  be 
independent  in  its  judgment  on  art  and  art  products,  that 
shall  not  be  tied  down  to  verdicts  based  on  tradition  and 
convention,  but  shall  be  prepared  to  reach  conclusions 
through  knowledge  and  sincerity. 

That  these  lectures  may  aid  in  this  splendid  educa- 
tional purpose  is  the  wish  of  those  who  are  responsible  for 
placing  them  before  the  public. 

W.   J.   BALTZELL. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  The  Origin  of  Music i 

II.  Origin  of  Song  vs.  Origin  of  Instrumental  Music  i6 

ni.  The  Music  of  the  Hebrews  and  the  Hindus 32 

IV.  The  Music  of  the  Egyptians,  Assyrians  and  Chi- 
nese    42 

V.  The  Music  of  the  Chinese  {continued) 54 

VT.  The  Music  of  Greece 69 

Vn.  The  Music  of  the  Romans  —  the  Early  Church  .  go' 

VIII.  Formation  of  teee  Scale  —  Notation 106 

IX.  The  Systems  of  Hucbald  and  Guroo  d'Arezzo  — 

the  Beginning  of  Counterpoint 122 

X.  Musical  Instruments  —  Their  History  and  Devei/- 

OPMENT 132 

XI.  Folk-Song  and  its  Relation  to  Nationalism  in 

Music 141 

XII.  The  Troubadours,  Minnesingers  and  Master-  '; 

SINGERS 158 

XIII.  Early  Instrumental  Forms 175 

XTV.  The  Merging  of  the  Sihte  into  the  Sonata 188 

XV.  The  Development  of  Pianoforte  Music 199 

XVI.  The  Mystery  and  Miracle  Play 265 

XVn.  Opera 210 

XVni.  Opera  {coniinued) 224 

XIX.  On  the  Lives  and  Art  Principles  of  Some  Seven- 
teenth AND  Eighteenth  Century  Composers  . . .  236 

XX.  Declamation  in  Music 254 

XXI.  Suggestion  in  Music » 261 

vii 


%  » 


/-  2 


CRITICAL   AND    HISTORICAL 

ESSAYS 


THE  ORlGTiN   OF  MUSIC 

Darwin's  theory  that  music  had  its  origin  "in  the 
sounds  made  by  the  half-human  progenitors  of  man  dur- 
ing the  season  of  courtship"  seems  for  many  reasons  to 
be  inadequate  and  imtenable.  A  much  more  plausible 
explanation,  it  seems  to  me,  is  to  be  found  in  the  theory 
of  Theophrastus,  in  which  the  origin  of  music  is  attrib- 
uted to  the  whole  range  of  human  emotion. 

When  an  animal  utters  a  cry  of  joy  or  pain  it  expresses 
its  emotions  in  more  or  less  definite  tones;  and  at  some 
remote  period  of  the  earth's  history  all  primeval  mankind 
must  have  expressed  its  emotions  in  much  the  same 
manner.  When  this  inarticulate  speech  developed  into 
the  use  of  certain  sounds  as  symbols  for  emotions  — 
emotions  that  otherwise  would  have  been  expressed  by  the 
natural  sounds  occasioned  by  them  —  then  we  have  the 
beginnings  of  speech  as  distinguished  from  music,  which  is 
still  the  universal  language.  In  other  words,  intellec- 
tual development  begins  with  articulate  speech,  leaving 
music  for  the  expression  of  the  emotions. 

To  symboKze  the  sounds  used  to  express  emotion,  if 
I  may  so  put  it,  is  to  weaken  that  expression,  and  it 


2  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

would  naturally  be  the  strongest  emotion  that  would 
first  feel  the  inadequacy  of  the  new-found  speech.  Now 
what  is  mankind's  strongest  emotion?  Even  in  the 
nineteenth  century  Goethe  could  say,  "'Tis  fear  that 
constitutes  the  god-like  in  man,"  Certainly  before  the 
Christian  era  the  soul  of  mankind  had  its  roots  in  fear. 
In  our  superstition  we  were  like  children  beneath  a  great 
tree  of  which  the  upper  part  was  as  a  vague  and  fascinat- 
ing mystery,  but  the  roots  holding  it  firmly  to  the  ground 
were  tangible,  palpable  facts.  We  feared  —  we  knew  not 
what.  Love  was  human,  all  the  other  emotions  were 
human;  fear  alone  was  indefinable. 

The  primeval  savage,  looking  at  the  world  subjectively, 
was  merely  part  of  it.  He  might  love,  hate,  threaten, 
kill,  if  he  willed;  every  other  creature  could  do  the  same. 
But  the  wind  was  a  great  spirit  to  him;  lightning  and 
thunder  threatened  him  as  they  did  the  rest  of  the  world; 
the  flood  would  destroy  him  as  ruthlessly  as  it  tore  the 
trees  asunder.  The  elements  were  animate  powers  that 
had  nothing  in  common  with  him;  for  what  the  intellect 
cannot  explain  the  imagination  magnifies. 
..Fear,  then,  was  the  strongest  emotion.  Therefore 
auxiliary  aids  to  express  and  cause  fear  were  necessary 
when  the  speech  symbols  for  fear,  drifting  further  and 
further  away  from  expressing  the  actual  thing,  became 
words,  and  words  were  inadequate  to  express  and 
cause  fear.  In  that  vague  groping  for  sound  symbols 
which  would  cause  and  express  fear  far  better  than  mere 
words,  we  have  the  beginning  of  what  is  gradually  to 
develop  into  music. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC  3 

We  all  know  that  savage  nations  accompany  their 
dances  by  striking  one  object  with  another,  sometimes  by 
a  clanking  of  stones,  the  pounding  of  wood,  or  perhaps 
the  clashing  of  stone  spearheads  against  wooden  shields 
(a  custom  which  extended  until  the  time  when  shields 
and  spears  were  discarded),  meaning  thus  to  express 
something  that  words  cannot.  This  meaning  changed 
naturally  from  its  original  one  of  being  the  simple  expres- 
sion of  fear  to  that  of  welcoming  a  chieftain;  and,  if  one 
wishes  to  push  the  theory  to  excess,  we  may  still  see  a 
shadowy  reminiscence  of  it  in  the  manner  in  which  the 
violinists  of  an  orchestra  applaud  an  honoured  guest  — 
perchance  some  famous  virtuoso  —  at  one  of  our  sym- 
phony concerts  by  striking  the  backs  of  their  violins  with 
their  bows. 

To  go  back  to  the  savages.  While  this  clashing  of  one 
object  against  another  could  not  be  called  the  beginning 
of  music,  and  while  it  could  not  be  said  to  originate  a 
musical  instrument,  it  did,  nevertheless,  bring  into  exist- 
ence music's  greatest  prop,  rhythm,  an  ally  without 
which  music  would  seem  to  be  impossible.  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  go  into  this  point  in  detail.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  the  sense  of  rhythm  is  highly  developed  even  among 
those  savage  tribes  which  stand  the  lowest  in  the  scale 
of  civilization  to-day,  for  instance,  the  Andaman  Islanders, 
of  whom  I  shall  speak  later;  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
Tierra  del  Fuegians  and  the  now  extinct  aborigines  of 
Tasmania;  it  is  the  same  with  the  Semangs  of  the  Malay 
Peninsula,  the  Ajitas  of  the  Philippines,  and  the  savages 
inhabiting  the  interior  of  Borneo. 


4  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

As  I  have  said,  this  more  or  less  rhythmic  clanking  of 
stones  together,  the  striking  of  wooden  paddles  against 
the  side  of  a  canoe,  or  the  clashing  of  stone  spearheads 
against  wooden  shields,  could  not  constitute  the  first 
musical  instrument.  But  when  some  savage  first  struck 
a  hollow  tree  and  found  that  it  gave  forth  a  sound  peculiar 
to  itself,  when  he  found  a  hollow  log  and  filled  up  the  open 
ends,  first  with  wood,  and  then  —  possibly  getting  the  idea 
from  his  hide-covered  shield  —  stretched  skins  across  the 
two  open  ends,  then  he  had  completed  the  first  musical 
instrument  known  to  man,  namely,  the  drum.  And  such 
as  it  was  then,  so  is  it  now,  with  but  few  modifications. 

Up  to  this  point  it  is  reasonable  to  assiune  that  primeval 
man  looked  upon  the  world  purely  subjectively.  He  con- 
sidered himself  merely  a  unit  in  the  world,  and  felt  on  a 
plane  with  the  other  creatures  inhabiting  it.  But  from 
the  moment  he  had  invented  the  first  musical  instrument, 
the  drum,  he  had  created  something  outside  of  nature,  a 
voice  that  to  himself  and  to  all  other  living  creatures  was 
intangible,  an  idol  that  spoke  when  it  was  touched,  some- 
thing that  he  could  call  into  life,  something  that  shared 
the  supernatural  in  common  with  the  elements.  A  God 
had  come  to  hve  with  man,  and  thus  was  unfolded  the 
first  leaf  in  that  noble  tree  of  life  which  we  call  religion. 
Man  now  began  to  feel  himself  something  apart  from  the 
world,  and  to  look  at  it  objectively  instead  of  subjectively. 

To  treat  primitive  mankind  as  a  type,  to  put  it  under 
one  head,  to  make  one  theorem  cover  all  mankind,  as  it 
were,  seems  almost  an  unwarranted  boldness.  But  I 
think  it  is  warranted  when  we  consider  that,  aside  from 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC  5 

language,  music  is  the  very  first  sign  of  the  dawn  of  civil- 
ization. There  is  even  the  most  convincingly  direct 
testimony  in  its  favour.     For  instance: 

In  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  about  six  hundred  miles  from, the 
Hoogly  mouth  of  the  Ganges,  he  the  Andaman  Islands. 
The  savages  inhabiting  these  islands  have  the  unenviable 
reputation  of  being,  in  common  with  several  other  tribes, 
the  nearest  approach  to  primeval  man  in  existence.  These 
islands  and  their  inhabitants  have  been  known  and 
feared  since  time  immemorial;  our  old  friend  Sinbad  the 
Sailor,  of  ''Arabian  Nights"  fame,  undoubtedly  touched 
there  on  one  of  his  voyages.  These  savages  have  no 
reUgion  whatever,  except  the  vaguest  superstition,  in 
other  words,  fear,  and  they  have  no  musical  instruments 
of  any  kind.  They  have  reached  only  the  rhythm  stage, 
and  accompany  such  dances  as  they  have  by  clapping 
their  hands  or  by  stamping  on  the  groimd.  Let  us  now 
look  to  Patagonia,  some  thousands  of  miles  distant. 
The  Tierra  del  Fuegians  have  precisely  the  same  char- 
acteristics, no  reUgion,  and  no  musical  instruments  of  any 
kind.  Retracing  our  steps  to  the  Antipodes  we  find 
among  the  Weddahs  or  "wild  hunters"  of  Ceylon  exactly 
the  same  state  of  things.  The  same  description  applies 
without  distinction  equally  well  to  the  natives  in  the 
interior  of  Borneo,  to  the  Semangs  of  the  Malay  Penin- 
sula, and  to  the  now  extinct  aborigines  of  Tasmania. 
According  to  Virchow  their  dance  is  demon  worship  of  a 
purely  anthropomorphic  character;  no  musical  instru- 
ment of  any  kind  was  known  to  them.  Even  the  simple 
expression  of  emotions  by  the  voice,  which  we  have  seen 


6  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

is  its  most  primitive  medium,  has  not  been  replaced  to 
any  extent  among  these  races  since  their  discovery  of 
speech,  for  the  Tierra  del  Fuegians,  Andamans,  and 
Weddahs  have  but  one  soimd  to  represent  emotion, 
namely,  a  cry  to  express  joy;  having  no  other  means 
for  the  expression  of  sorrow,  they  paint  themselves  when 
mourning. 

It  is  granted  that  all  this,  in  itself,  is  not  conclusive; 
but  it  will  be  found  that  no  matter  in  what  wilderness 
one  may  hear  of  a  savage  beating  a  drum,  there  also  will 
be  a  well-defined  religion. 

Proofs  of  the  theory  that  the  drum  antedates  all  other 
musical  instruments  are  to  be  found  on  every  hand.  For 
wherever  in  the  anthropological  history  of  the  world  we 
hear  of  the  trumpet,  horn,  flute,  or  other  instrument  of 
the  pipe  species,  it  will  be  found  that  the  drum  and  its 
derivatives  were  already  well  known.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  the  lyre  species  of  instnunent,  the  forerunner  of 
our  guitar  {kithara),  tebuni  or  Egyptian  harp,  and  gener- 
ally all  stringed  instruments,  with  this  difference,  namely, 
that  wherever  the  lyre  species  was  known,  both  pipe  and 
dnmi  had  preceded  it.  We  never  find  the  lyre  without 
the  drum,  or  the  pipe  without  the  drum;  neither  do  we 
find  the  lyre  and  the  drum  without  the  pipe.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  often  find  the  drum  alone,  or  the  drum  and 
pipe  without  the  lyre.  This  certainly  proves  the  antiquity 
of  the  drum  and  its  derivatives. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  purely  rhythmical  nature  of  the 
pre-drum  period,  and  pointed  out,  in  contrast,  the  musical 
quality  of  the  drum.    This  may  seem  somewhat  strange, 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC  7 

accustomed  as  we  are  to  think  of  the  dram  as  a  purely 
rhythmical  instrument.  The  sounds  given  out  by  it 
seem  at  best  vague  in  tone  and  more  or  less  imiform  in 
quality.  We  forget  that  all  instrimients  of  percussion, 
as  they  are  called,  are  direct  descendants  of  the  drum. 
The  bells  that  hang  in  our  church  towers  are  but  modi- 
fications of  the  drmn;  for  what  is  a  bell  but  a  metal  drum 
with  one  end  left  open  and  the  drum  stick  hung  inside? 

Strange  to  say,  as  showing  the  marvellous  potency  of 
primeval  instincts,  bells  placed  in  church  towers  were 
supposed  to  have  much  of  the  supernatural  power  that 
the  savage  in  his  wilderness  ascribed  to  the  drum.  We 
all  know  something  of  the  bell  legends  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  how  the  tolling  of  a  bell  was  supposed  to  clear  the 
air  of  the  plague,  to  calm  the  storm,  and  to  shed  a  bless- 
ing on  all  who  heard  it.  And  this  superstition  was  to  a 
certain  extent  ratified  by  the  religious  ceremonies  attend- 
ing the  casting  of  church  bells  and  the  inscriptions  moulded 
in  them.  For  instance,  the  mid-day  bell  of  Strasburg, 
taken   down   during   the   French   Revolution,   bore   the 

motto 

"  I  am  the  voice  of  life." 

Another  one  in  Strasburg: 

"  I  ring  out  the  bad,  ring  in  the  good." 

Others  read 

"  My  voice  on  high  dispels  the  storm." 

"  I  am  called  Ave  Maria 
I  drive  away  storms." 

"  I  who  call  to  thee  am  the  Rose  of  the  World  and  am  called  Ave 

Maria." 


8  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

The  Egyptian  sistrum,  which  in  Roman  times  played 
an  important  role  in  tlie  worship  of  Isis,  was  shaped  some- 
what like  a  tennis  racquet,  with  four  wire  strings  on  which 
rattles  were  strung.  The  sound  of  it  must  have  been 
akin  to  that  of  our  modern  tambourine,  and  it  served 
much  the  same  purpose  as  the  primitive  drum,  namely, 
to  drive  away  Typhon  or  Set,  the  god  of  evil.  Dead  kings 
were  called  "Osiris"  when  placed  in  their  tombs,  and  sistri 
put  with  them  in  order  to  drive  away  Set. 

Beside  bells  and  rattles  we  must  include  all  instru- 
ments of  the  tambourine  and  gong  species  in  the  drum 
category.  While  there  are  many  different  forms  of  the 
same  instrument,  there  are  evidences  of  their  all  having 
at  some  time  served  the  same  purpose,  even  down  to  that 
strange  instrument  about  which  Du  Chaillu  tells  us  in 
his  "Equatorial  Africa",  a  bell  of  leopard  skin,  with  a 
clapper  of  fur,  which  was  rung  by  the  wizard  doctor  when 
entering  a  hut  where  someone  was  ill  or  dying.  The 
leopard  skin  and  fur  clapper  seem  to  have  been  devised 
to  make  no  noise,  so  as  not  to  anger  the  demon  that  was 
to  be  cast  out.  This  reminds  us  strangely  of  the  custom 
of  ringing  a  bell  as  the  priest  goes  to  administer  the  last 
rites. 

It  is  said  that  first  impressions  are  the  strongest  and 
most  lasting;  certain  it  is  that  humanity,  through  all  its 
social  and  racial  evolutions,  has  retained  remnants  of 
certain  primitive  ideas  to  the  present  day.  The  army 
death  reveille,  the  minute  gun,  the  tolling  of  bells  for  the 
dead,  the  tocsin,  etc.,  all  have  their  roots  in  the  attributes 
assigned  to  the  primitive  drum;  for,  as  I  have  already 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC  9 

pointed  out,  the  more  civilized  a  people  becomes,  the  more 
the  word-symbols  degenerate.  It  is  this  continual  drift- 
ing away  of  the  word-symbols  from  the  natural  sounds 
which  are  occasioned  by  emotions  that  creates  the  necessity 
for  auxiliary  means  of  expression,  and  thus  gives  us  instru- 
mental music. 

Since  the  advent  of  the  drum  a  great  stride  toward 
civilization  had  been  made.  Mankind  no  longer  lived  in 
caves  but  built  huts  and  even  temples,  and,  the  condi- 
tions imder  which  he  Uved  must  have  been  similar  to  those 
of  the  natives  of  Central  Africa  before  travellers  opened 
up  the  Dark  Continent  to  the  caravan  of  the  European 
trader.  If  we  look  up  the  subject  in  the  narratives  of 
Livingstone  or  Stanley  we  find  that  these  people  lived  in 
groups  of  coarsely-thatthed  huts,  the  village  being  almost 
invariably  surroimded  by  a  kind  of  stockade.  Now  this 
manner  of  living  is  identically  the  same  as  that  of  all 
savage  tribes  which  have  not  passed  beyond  the  drum 
state  of  civilization,  namely,  a  few  huts  huddled  together 
and  surrounded  by  a  paUsade  of  bamboo  or  cane.  Since 
the  pith  would  decompose  in  a  short  time,  we  should 
probably  find  that  the  wind,  whirling  across  such  a 
palisade  of  pipes  —  for  that  is  what  our  bamboos  would 
have  turned  to  —  would  produce  musical  soimds,  in  fact, 
exactly  the  sounds  that  a  large  set  of  Pan's  pipes  would 
produce.  For  after  all  wh^t  we  call  Pan's  pipes  are  simply 
pieces  of  bamboo  or  cane  of  different  lengths  tied  together 
and  made  to  sound  by  blowing  across  the  open  tops. 

The  theory  may  be  objected  to  on  the  ground  that  it 
scarcely  proves  the  antiquity  of  the  pipe  to  be  less  than 


lO  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

that  of  the  drum;  but  the  objection  is  hardly  of  importance 
when  we  consider  that  the  drum  was  known  long  before 
mankind  had  reached  the  "hut"  stage  of  ci\ilization. 
Under  the  head  of  pipe,  the  tnmipet  and  all  its  derivatives 
must  be  accepted.  On  this  point  there  has  been  much 
controversy.  But  it  seems  reasonable  to  believe  that 
once  it  was  foimd  that  sound  could  be  produced  by  blow- 
ing across  the  top  of  a  hollow  pipe,  the  most  natural 
thing  to  do  would  be  to  try  the  same  effect  on  all  hollow 
things  differing  in  shape  and  material  from  the  original 
bamboo.  This  would  accoimt  for  the  conch«shells  of  the 
Amazons  which,  according  to  travellers'  tales,  were  used 
to  proclaim  an  attack  in  war;  in  Africa  the  tusks  of  ele- 
phants were  used;  in  North  America  the  instrvunent  did 
not  rise  above  the  whistle  made  from  the  small  bones 
of  a  deer  or  of  a  turkey's  leg. 

That  the  Pan's  pipes  are  the  originals  of  all  these  species 
seems  hardly  open  to  doubt.  Even  among  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  we  see  traces  of  them  in  the  double  tnmipet 
and  the  double  pipe.  These  trumpets  became  larger  and 
larger  in  form,  and  the  force  required  to  play  them  was 
such  that  the  player  had  to  adopt  a  kind  of  leather  har- 
ness to  strengthen  his  cheeks.  Before  this  development 
had  been  reached,  however,  I  have  no  doubt  that  all 
wind  instnmients  were  of  the  Pan's  pipes  variety;  that  is 
to  say,  the  instruments  consisted  of  a  hollow  tube  shut 
at  one  end,  the  sound  being  produced  by  the  breath 
catching  on  the  open  edge  of  the  tube.     . 

Direct  blowing  into  the  tube  doubtless  came  later.  In 
this  case  the  tube  was  open  at  both  ends,  and  the  sound 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC  II 

was  determined  by  its  length  and  by  the  force  given  to 
the  breath  in  playing.  There  is  good  reason  for  admitting 
this  new  instrument  to  be  a  descendant  of  the  Pan's 
pipes,  for  it  was  evidently  played  by  the  nose  at  first. 
This  would  preclude  its  being  considered  as  an  originally 
forcible  instnmient,  such  as  the  trumpet. 

Now  that  we  have  traced  the  history  of  the  pipe  and 
considered  the  different  types  of  the  instrument,  we  can 
see  immediately  that  it  brought  no  great  new  truth  home 
to  man  as  did  the  drum. 

The  savage  who  first  climbed  secretly  to  the  top  of  the 
stockade  around  his  village  to  investigate  the  cause  of 
the  mysterious  sounds  would  naturally  say  that  the 
Great  Spirit  had  revealed  a  mystery  to  him;  and  he 
would  also  claim  to  be  a  wonder  worker.  But  while  his 
pipe  would  be  accepted  to  a  certain  degree,  it  was  never- 
theless second  in'  the  field  and  could  hardly  replace  the 
drum.  Besides,  mankind  had  already  commenced  to 
think  on  a  higher  plane,  and  the  pipe  was  reduced  to 
filling  what  gaps  it  could  in  the  language  of  the  emotions. 

The  second  strongest  emotion  of  the  race  is  love.  All 
over  the  world,  wherever  we  find  the  pipe  in  its  softer, 
earlier  form,  we  find  it  connected  with  love  songs.  In 
time  it  degenerated  into  a  synonym  for  something  con- 
temptibly slothful  and  worthless,  so  much  so  that  Plato 
wished' to  banish  it  from  his  "Republic,"  saying  that 
the  Lydian  pipe  should  not  have  a  place  in  a  decent 
community. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  trumpet  branch  of  the  family 
developed  into  something  quite  different.    At  the  very 


12  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

beginning  it  was  used  for  war,  and  as  its  object  was  to 
frighten,  it  became  larger  and  larger  in  form,  and  more 
formidable  in  sound.  In  this  respect  it  only  kept  pace 
with  the  drum,  for  we  read  of  Assyrian  and  Thibetan 
trumpets  two  or  three  yards  long,  and  of  the  Aztec  war 
drum  which  reached  the  enormous  height  of  ten  feet,  and 
could  be  heard  for  miles. 

Now  this,  the  tnunpet  species  of  pipe,  we  find  also 
used  as  an  auxiliary  "spiritual"  help  to  the  drum.  We 
are  told  by  M.  Hue,  in  his  "Travels  in  Thibet,"  that  the 
llamas  of  Thibet  have  a  custom  of  assembling  on  the 
roofs  of  Lhassa  at  a  stated  period  and  blowing  enormous 
trumpets,  making  the  most  hideous  midnight  din  imagi- 
nable. The  reason  given  for  this  was  that  in  former  days 
the  city  was  terrorized  by  demons  who  rose  from  a  deep 
ravine  and  crept  through  all  the  houses,  working  evil 
everywhere.  After  the  priests  had  exorcised  them  by 
blowing  these  trumpets,  the  town  was  troubled  no  more. 
In  Africa  the  same  demonstration  of  trumpet  blowing 
occurs  at  an  eclipse  of  the  moon;  and,  to  draw  the  theory 
out  to  a  thin  thread,  anyone  who  has  Uved  in  a  small 
German  Protestant  town  will  remember  the  chorals  which 
are  so  often  played  before  simrise  by  a  band  of  trumpets, 
horns,  and  trombones  from  the  belfry  of  some  church  tower. 
Almost  up  to  the  end  of  the  last  century  trombones  were 
intimately  connected  with  the  church  service;  and  if  we 
look  back  to  Zoroaster  we  find  the  sacerdotal  character 
of  this  species  of  instrument  very  plainly  indicated. 

Now  let  us  turn  back  to  the  Pan's  pipes  and  its  direct 
descendants,  the  flute,  the  clarinet,  and  the  oboe.    We 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC  13 

shall  find  that  they  had  no  connection  whatever  with 
religious  observances.  Even  in  the  nineteenth  century 
novel  we  are  famihar  with  the  kind  of  hero  who  played 
the  flute  —  a  very  sentimental  gentleman  always  in  love. 
If  he  had  played  the  clarinet  he  would  have  been  very 
sorrowful  and  discouraged;  and  if  it  had  been  the  oboe 
(which,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  has  never  been 
attempted  in  fiction)  he  would  have  needed  to  be  a  very 
ill  man  indeed. 

Now  we  never  hear  of  these  latter  kinds  of  pipes  being 
considered  fit  for  anything  but  the  dance,  love  songs,  or 
love  charms.  In  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury Garcilaso  de  la  Vega,  the  historian  of  Peru,  tells  of 
the  astonishing  power  of  a  love  song  played  on  a  flute. 
We  find  so-called  "courting"  flutes  in  Formosa  and  Peru, 
and  Catlin  tells  of  the  Winnebago  courting  flute.  The 
same  instrument  was  known  in  Java,  as  the  old  Dutch 
settlers  have  told  us.  But  we  never  hear  of  it  as  creating 
awe,  or  as  being  thought  a  fit  instrument  to  use  with  the 
drum  or  trumpet  in  connection  with  religious  rites. 
Leonardo  da  Vind  had  a  flute  player  make  music  while 
he  painted  his  picture  of  Mona  Lisa,  thinking  that  it 
gave  her  the  expression  he  wished  to  catch  —  that 
strange  smile  reproduced  in  the  Louvre  painting.  The 
flute  member  of  the  pipe  species,  therefore,  was  more  or 
less  an  emblem  of  eroticism,  and,  as  I  have  already  said, 
has  never  been  even  remotely  identified  with  religious 
mysticism,  with  perhaps  the  one  exception  of  Indra's 
flute,  which,  however,  never  seems  to  have  been  able  to 
retain  a  place  among  reUgious  symbols.    The  tnmipet, 


14  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

on  the  other  hand,  has  retained  something  of  a  mystical 
character  even  to  our  day.  The  most  powerful  illustra- 
tion of  this  known  to  me  is  in  the  "  Requiem  "  by  Ber- 
lioz. The  effect  of  those  tremendous  trvmipet  calls  from 
the  four  comers  of  the  orchestra  is  an  overwhelming  one, 
of  crushing  power  and  majesty,  much  of  which  is  due  to 
the  rhythm. 

To  sum  up.  We  may  regard  rhythm  as  the  intellectual 
side  of  music,  melody  as  its  sensuous  side.  The  pipe  is 
the  one  instnunent  that  seems  to  affect  animals  — 
hooded  cobras,  lizards,  fish,  etc.  Animals'  natures  are 
purely  sensuous,  therefore  the  pipe,  or  to  put  it  more 
broadly,  melody,  affects  them.  To  rhythm,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  are  indifferent;  it  appeals  to  the  intellect,  and 
therefore  only  to  man. 

This  theory  would  certainly  account  for  much  of  the 
potency  of  what  we  moderns  call  music.  All  that  aims 
to  be  dramatic,  tragic,  supernatural  in  our  modern  music, 
derives  its  impressiveness  directly  from  rhythm.*  What 
would  that  shudder  of  horror  in  Weber's  "  Freischiitz  " 
be  without  that  throb  of  the  basses  ?  Merely  a  diminished 
chord  of  the  seventh.  Add  the  pizzicato  in  the  basses 
and  the  chord  sinks  into  something  fearsome;  one  has  a 
sudden  choking  sensation,  as  if  one  were  listening  in  fear, 
or  as  if  the  heart  had  almost  stopped  beating.  All  through 
Wagner's  music  dramas  this  powerful  effect  is  employed, 

*  The  strength  of  the  "  Fate  "  motive  in  Beethoven's  fifth  s)Tn- 
phony  undoubtedly  lies  in  the  succession  of  the  four  notes  at  equal 
intervals  of  time.  Beethoven  himself  marked  it  So  pocht  das  Schick- 
sal  an  die  Pforte. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC  1 5 

from  "The  Flying  Dutchman"  to  "Parsifal."  Every 
composer  from  Beethoven  to  Nicode  has  used  the  same 
means  to  express  the  same  emotions;  it  is  the  medium 
that  pre-historic  man  first  knew;  it  produced  the  same 
sensation  of  fear  in  him  that  it  does  in  us  at  the  present 
day. 

Rhythm  denotes  a  thought;  it  is  the  expression  of  a 
purpose.  There  is^will  behind  it;  its  vital  part  is  inten- 
tion, power;  it  is  an  act.  Melody,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
an  almost  imconscious  expression  of  the  senses;  it  trans- 
lates feeling  into  sound.  It  is  the  natural  outlet  for 
sensation.  In  anger  we  raise  the  voice;  in  sadness  we 
lower  it.  In  talking  we  give  expression  to  the  emo- 
tions in  soimd.  In  a  sentence  in  which  fury  alternates 
with  sorrow,  we  have  the  Umits  of  the  melody  of  speech. 
Add  to  this  rhythm,  and  the  very  height  of  expression  is 
reached;  for  by  it  the  intellect  will  dominate  the  sensuous. 


n 

ORIGIN  OF  SONG  vs.  ORIGIN  OF  INSTRUMENTAL 
MUSIC 

Emerson  characterized  language  as  "fossil  poetry," 
but  "fossil  music"  would  have  described  it  even  better; 
for  as  Darwin  says,  man  sang  before  he  became  human. 

Gerber,  in  his  "Sprache  als  Kunst,"  describing  the 
degeneration  of  soimd  symbols,  says  "the  saving  point 
of  language  is  that  the  original  material  meanings  of 
words  have  become  forgotten  or  lost  in  their  acquired 
ideal  meaning."  This  applies  with  special  force  to  the 
languages  of  China,  Egypt,,  and  India.  Up  to  the  last 
two  centuries  our  written  music  was  held  in  bondage,  was 
"fossil  music,"  so  to  speak.  Only  certain  progressions 
of  sounds  were  allowed,  for  religion  controlled  music. 
I  In  the  Middle  Ages  folk  song  was  used  by  the  Church, 
'and  a  certain  amount  of  control  was  exercised  over  it; 
even  up  to  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  the  use 
of  sharps  and  flats  was  frowned  upon  in  church  music. 
But  gradually  music  began  to  break  loose  from  its  old 
chains,  and  in  our  own  century  we  see  Beethoven  snap 
the  last  thread  of  that  powerful  restraint  which  had  held 
it  so  long. 

The  vital  germ  of  music,  as  we  know  it,  lay  in  the  fact 
that  it  had  always  found  a  home  in  the  hearts  of  the  com- 
mon people  of  all  nations.    While  from  time  immemorial 

i6 


SONG  VS.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  1 7 

theory,  mostly  in  the  form  of  mathematical  problems, 
was  being  fought  over,  and  while  laws  were  being  laid 
down  by  religions  and  governments  of  all  nations  as  to 
what  music  must  be  and  what  music  was  forbidden  to 
be,  the  vital  spark  of  the  divine  art  was  being  kept  aUve 
deep  beneath  the  ashes  of  Uf  e  in  the  hearts  of  the  oppressed 
common  folk.  They  still  sang  as  they  felt;  when  the  mood 
was  sad  the  song  mirrored  the  sorrow;  if  it  were  gay 
the  song  echoed  it,  despite  the  disputes  of  philosophers 
and  the  commands  of  governments  and  religion.  Mon- 
taigne, in  speaking  of  language,  said  with  truth,  "'Tis 
folly  to  attempt  to  fight  custom  with  theories."  This 
folk  song,  to  use  a  Germanism,  we  can  hardly  take  into 
account  at  the  present  moment,  though  later  we  shall 
see  that  spark  fanned  into  fire  by  Beethoven,  and  carried 
by  Richard  Wagner  as  a  flaming  torch  through  the  very 
home  of  the  gods,  "Walhalla." 

Let  us  go  back  to  our  dust  heap.  Words  have  been 
called  "decayed  sentences,"  that  is  to  say,  every  word 
was  once  a  small  sentence  complete  in  itself.  This 
theory  seems  true  enough  when  we  remember  that  mankind 
has  three  languages,  each  complementing  the  other.  For 
even  now  we  say  many  words  in  one,  when  that  word 
is  reinforced  and  completed  by  our  vocabulary  of  sounds 
and  expression,  which,  in  turn,  has  its  shadow,  gesture. 
These  shadow  languages,  which  accompany  all  our  words, 
give  to  the  latter  vitality  and  raise  them  from  mere  abstract 
symbols  to  living  representatives  of  the  idea.  Indeed,  in 
certain  languages,  this  auxiliary  expression  even  over- 
shadows the  spoken  word.     For  instance,  in  Chinese,  the 


1 8  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

theng  or  intonation  of  words  is  much  more  important 
than  the  actual  words  themselves.  Thus  the  third 
intonation  or  theng,  as  it  is  called  in  the  Pekin  dialect, 
is  an  upward  inflection  of  the  voice.  A  word  with  this 
upward  inflection  would  be  unintelligible  if  given  the 
fourth  theng  or  downward  inflection.  For  instance,  the 
word  "kwai"  with  a  downward  inflection  means  "honour- 
able," but  give  it  an  upward  inflection  "kwai"  and  it 
means  "devil." 

Just  as  a  word  was  originally  a  sentence,  so  was  a  tone 
in  music  something  of  a  melody.  One  of  the  first  things 
that  impresses  us  in  studying  examples  of  savage  music 
is  the  monotonic  nature  of  the  melodies;  indeed  some  of 
the  music  consists  almost  entirely  of  one  oft-repeated 
sound.  Those  who  have  heard  this  music  say  that  the 
actual  effect  is  not  one  of  a  steady  repetition  of  a  single 
tone,  but  rather  that  there  seems  to  be  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible rising  and  falling  of  the  voice.  The  primitive 
savage  is  unable  to  sing  a  tone  clearly  and  cleanly,  the 
pitch  invariably  wavering.  From  this  almost  imper- 
ceptible rising  and  falling  of  the  voice  above  and  below 
one  tone  we  are  able  to  gauge  more  or  less  the  state  of 
civilization  of  the  nation  to  which  the  song  belongs. 
This  phrase-tone  corresponds,  therefore,  to  the  sentence- 
word,  and  like  it,  gradually  loses  its  meaning  as  a  phrase 
and  fades  into  a  tone  which,  in  turn,  will  be  used  in  new 
phrases  as  mankind  mounts  the  ladder  of  civilization. 

At  last  then  we  have  a  single  tone  clearly  uttered,  and 
recognizable  as  a  musical  tone.  We  can  even  make  a 
plausible  guess  as  to  what  that  tone  was.     Gardiner,  in 


SONG  vs.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  IQ 

his  "Music  of  Nature,"  tells  of  experiments  he  made  in 
order  to  determine  the  normal  pitch  of  the  human  voice. 
By  going  often  to  the  gallery  of  the  London  Stock  Exchange 
he  found  that  the  roar  of  voices  invariably  amalgamated 
into  one  long  note,  which  was  always  F.  If  we  look 
over  the  various  examples  of  monotonic  savage  music 
quoted  by  Fletcher,  Fillmore,  Baker,  Wilkes,  Catlin, 
and  others,  we  find  additional  corroboration  of  the  state- 
ment; song  after  song,  it  will  be  noticed,  is  composed 
entirely  of  F,  G,  and  even  F  alone  or  G  alone.  Such 
songs  are  generally  ancient  ones,  and  have  been  crystallized 
and  held  intact  by  religion,  in  much  the  same  way  that 
the  chanting  heard  in  the  Roman  Catholic  service  has 
been  preserved. 
Let  us  assume  then  that  the  normal  tone  of  the  human 


voice  in  speaking  is  F  or  G  r^'  —  for  men,  and  for 


women  the  octave  higher.  This  tone  does  very  well 
for  our  everyday  life;  perhaps  a  pleasant  impression  may 
raise  it  somewhat,  ennui  may  depress  it  slightly;  but  the 
average  tone  of  our  "commonplace"  talk,  if  I  may  call 
it  that,  will  be  about  F.  But  let  some  sudden  emotion 
come,  and  we  find  monotone  speech  abandoned  for  impas- 
sioned speech,  as  it  has  been  called.  Instead  of  keeping 
the  voice  evenly  on  one  or  two  notes,  we  speak  much 
higher  or  lower  than  our  normal  pitch. 

And  these  sounds  may  be  measured  and  classified  to  a 
certain  extent  according  to  the  emotions  which  cause 
them,  although  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  we  are 
looking  at  the  matter  collectively;  that  is  to  say,  without 


20  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

reckoning  on  individual  idiosyncrasies  of  expression  in 
speech.  Of  course  we  know  that  joy  is  apt  to  make  us 
raise  the  voice  and  sadness  to  lower  it.  For  instance,  we 
have  all  heard  gruesome  stories,  and  have  noticed  how 
naturally  the  voice  sinks  in  the  telling.  A  ghost  story 
told  with  an  upward  inflection  might  easily  become 
humourous,  so  instinctively  do  we  associate  the  upward 
inflection  with  a  non-pessimistic  trend  of  thought.  Under 
stress  of  emotion  we  emphasize  words  strongly,  and  with 
this  emphasis  we  almost  invariably  raise  the  voice  a 
fifth  or  depress  it  a  fifth;  with  yet  stronger  emotion  the 
interval  of  change  will  be  an  octave.  We  raise  the  voice 
almost  to  a  scream  or  drop  it  to  a  whisper.  Strangely 
enough  these  primitive  notes  of  music  correspond  to  the 
first  two  of  those  harmonics  which  are  part  and  parcel 
of  every  musical  sound.  Generally  speaking,  we  may  say 
that  the  ascending  inflection  carries  something  of  joy  or 
hope  with  it,  while  the  downward  inflection  has  some- 
thing of  the  sinister  and  fearful.  To  be  sure,  we  raise  our 
voices  in  anger  and  in  pain,  but  even  then  the  inflection 
is  almost  always  downward;  in  other  words,  we  pitch  our 
voices  higher  and  let  them  fall  slightly.  For  instance, 
if  we  heard  a  person  cry  "Ah/"  we  might  doubt  its 
being  a  cry  of  pain,  but  if  it  were  "Ah\"  we  should  at 
once  know  that  it  was  caused  by  pain,  either  mental  or 
physical. 

The  declamation  at  the  end  of  Schubert's  "  Erlking  " 
would  have  been  absolutely  false  if  the  penultimate  note 
had  ascended  to  the  tonic  instead  of  descending  a  fifth. 
"The  child  lay  dead." 


SONG  VS.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  21 

How  fatally  hopeless  would  be  the  opening  measures  of 
"Tristan  and  Isolde"  without  that  upward  inflection  which 
comes  like  a  sunbeam  through  a  rift  in  the  cloud;  vdih  a 
downward  inflection  the  effect  would  be  that  of  unreUeved 
gloom.  In  the  Prelude  to  "  Lohengrin,"  Wagner  pictures 
his  angels  in  dazzling  white.  He  uses  the  highest  vibrating 
sounds  at  his  command.  But  for  the  dwarfs  who  Hve 
in  the  gloom  of  Niebelheim  he  chooses  deep  shades  of 
red,  the  lowest  vibrating  colour  of  the  solar  spectrum. 
For  it  is  in  the  nature  of  the  spiritual  part  of  mankind 
to  shrink  from  the  earth,  to  aspire  to  something  higher; 
a  bird  soaring  in  the  blue  above  us  has  something  of  the 
ethereal;  we  give  wings  to  our  angels.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
serpent  impresses  us  as  something  sinister.  Trees,  with 
their  strange  fight  against  all  the  laws  of  gravity,  striving 
upward  imceasingly,  bring  us  something  of  hope  and 
faith;  the  sight  of  them  cheers  us.  A  land  without  trees 
is  depressing  and  gloomy.  As  Ruskin  says,  "The  sea 
wave,  with  all  its  beneficence,  is  yet  devouring  and  terrible; 
but  the  silent  wave  of  the  blue  mountain  is  Ufted  towards 
Heaven  in  a  stillness  of  perpetual  mercy;  and  while  the 
one  surges  unfathomable  in  its  darkness,  the  other  is 
imshaken  in  its  faithfulness." 

And  yet  so  strange  is  himian  nature  that  that  which 
we  call  civilization  strives  unceasingly  to  nulUfy  emotion. 
The  almost  childUke  faith  which  made  our  church  spires 
point  heavenward  also  gave  us  Gothic  architecture,  that 
emblem  of  frail  humanity  striving  towards  the  ideal. 
It  is  a  long  leap  from  that  childlike  faith  to  the  present 
day  of  skyscrapers.     For    so  is  the  world   constituted. 


22  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

A  great  truth  too  often  becomes  gradually  a  truism, 
then  a  merely  tolerated  and  uninteresting  theory;  grad- 
ually it  becomes  obsolete  and  sometimes  even  degenerates 
into  a  symbol  of  sarcasm  or  a  servant  of  utilitarian- 
ism. This  we  are  illustrating  every  day  of  our  Uves. 
We  speak  of  a  person's  being  "silly,"  and  yet  the  word 
comes  from  "saelig,"  old  English  for  "blessed";  to  act 
"sheepishly"  once  had  reference  to  divine  resignation, 
"even  as  a  sheep  led  to  the  slaughter, "  and  so  on  ad  infini- 
tum. We  build  but  few  great  cathedrals  now.  Our  tall 
buildings  generally  point  to  utilitarianism  and  the  almighty 
dollar. 

But  in  the  new  art,  music,  we  have  foimd  a  new  domain 
in  which  impulses  have  retained  their  freshness  and  warmth, 
in  which,  to  quote  Goethe,  "first  comes  the  act,  then  the 
word";  first  the  expression  of  emotion,  then  the  theory 
that  classifies  it;  a  domain  in  which  words  cannot  lose 
their  original  meanings  entirely,  as  in  speech.  For  in 
spite  of  the  strange  twistings  of  ultra  modern  music,  a 
simple  melody  still  embodies  the  same  pathos  for  us  that 
it  did  for  our  grandparents.  To  be  sure  the  poignancy 
of  harmony  in  our  day  has  been  heightened  to  an  incred- 
ible degree.  We  deal  in  gorgeous  colouring  and  mighty 
soimd  masses  which  would  have  been  amazing  in  the  last 
century;  but  still  through  it  all  we  find  in  Handel,  Beetho- 
ven, and  Schubert,  up  to  Wagner,  the  same  great  truths 
of  declamation  that  I  have  tried  to  explain  to  you. 

Herbert  Spencer,  in  an  essay  on  "The  Origin  and 
Functions  of  Music,"  speaks  of  speech  as  the  parent  of 
music.    He  says,  "utterance,  which  when  languaged  is 


SONG  VS.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  23 

speech,  gave  rise  to  music. "  The  definition  is  incomplete, 
for  "languaged  utterance,"  as  he  calls  it,  which  is  speech, 
is  a  duality,  is  either  an  expression  of  emotion  or  a  mere 
symbol  of  emotion,  and  as  such  has  gradually  sunk  to 
the  level  of  the  commonplace.  As  Rowbotham  points 
out,  impassioned  speech  is  the  parent  of  music,  while 
unimpassioned  speech  has  remained  the  vehicle  for  the 
smaller  emotions  of  Ufe,  the  everyday  expression  of  every- 
day emotions. 

In  studying  the  music  of  different  nations  we  are  con- 
fronted by  one  fact  which  seems  to  be  part  and  parcel 
of  almost  every  nationality,  namely,  the  constant  recur- 
rence of  what  is  called  the  five  tone  (pentatonic)  scale. 
We  find  it  in  primitive  forms  of  music  all  the  world  over, 
in  China  and  in  Scotland,  among  the  Burmese,  and  again 
in  North  America.  Why  it  is  so  seems  almost  doomed 
to  remain  a  mystery.  The  following  theory  may  neverthe- 
less be  advanced  as  being  at  least  plausible: 

Vocal  music,  as  we  understand  it,  and  as  I  have  already 
explained,  began  when  the  first  tone  could  be  given 
clearly;  that  is  to  say,  when  the  sound  sentence  had  amal- 
gamated into  the  single  musical  tone.  The  pitch  being 
sometimes  F,  sometimes  G,  sudden  emotion  gives  us  the 
fifth,  C  or  D,  and  the  strongest  emotion  the  octave,  F  or 
G.  Thus  we  have  already  the  following  sounds  in  our 
first  musical  scale. 


We  know  how  singers  slur  from  one  tone  to  another.    It 
is  a  fault  that  caused  the  fathers  of  harmony  to  prohibit 


24  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

what  are  called  hidden  fifths  in  vocal  music.  The  jump 
from  G  to  C  in  the  above  scale  fragment  would  be  slurred, 
for  we  must  remember  that  the  intoning  of  clear  individ- 
ual sounds  was  still  a  novelty  to  the  savage.  Now  the 
distance  from  G  to  C  is  too  small  to  admit  two  tones 
such  as  the  savage  knew;  consequently,  for  the  sake  of 
uniformity,  he  would  try  to  put  but  one  tone  between, 
singing  a  mixture  of  A  and  Bb,  which  sound  in  time  fell 
definitely  to  A,  leaving  the  mystery  of  the  half-tone 
unsolved.  This  addition  of  the  third  would  thus  fall  in 
with  the  law  of  harmonics  again.  First  we  have  the  key- 
note; next  in  importance  comes  the  fifth;  and  last  of  all 
the  third.  Thus  again  is  the  absence  of  the  major  seventh 
in  our  primitive  scale  perfectly  logical;  we  may  search 
in  vain  in  our  list  of  harmonics  for  the  tone  which  forms 
that  interval. 

Now  that  we  have  traced  the  influence  of  passionate 
utterance  on  music,  it  still  remains  for  us  to  consider  the 
influence  of  something  very  different.  The  dance  played 
an  important  role  in  the  shaping  of  the  art  of  music; 
for  to  it  music  owes  periodicity,  form,  the  shaping  of 
phrases  into  measures,  even  its  rests.  And  in  this  music 
is  not  the  only  debtor,  for  poetry  owes  its  very  "feet"  to 
the  dance. 

Now  the  dance  was,  and  is,  an  irresponsible  thing. 
It  had  no  tdtson  d'etre  except  purely  physical  enjoyment. 
This  rhythmic  swaying  of  the  body  and  light  tapping  of 
the  feet  have  always  had  a  mysterious  attraction  and 
fascination  for  mankind,  and  music  and  poetry  were 
caught  in  its  swaying  measures  early  in  the  dawn  of  art. 


SONG  VS.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  25 

When  a  man  walks,  he  takes  either  long  steps  or  short 
steps,  he  walks  fast  or  slow.  But  when  he  takes  one 
long  step  and  one  short  one,  when  one  step  is  slow  and  the 
other  fast,  he  no  longer  walks,  he  dances.  Thus  we  may 
say  with  reasonable  certainty  that  triple  time  arose  directly 
from  the  dance,  for  triple  time  is  simply  one  strong,  long 

beat  followed  by  a  short,  Ught  one,  viz. :  f    1*     or  j  —  --^  I 

the  "trochee  "in  our  poetry.     |  '    i^    M*    ^    I  Iambic. 

The  spondee    1      1     I  or   —  —  ,  which  is  the  rhj^hm  of 

prose,  we  already  possessed;  for  when  we  walk  it  is  in 
spondees,  namely,  in  groups  of  two  equal  steps.  Now 
imagine  dancing  to  spondees!  At  first  the  steps  will  be 
equal,  but  the  body  rests  on  the  first  beat;  Kttle  by  little 
the  second  beat,  being  thus  relegated  to  a  position  of 
relative  unimportance,  becomes  shorter  and  shorter,  and 
we  rest  longer  on  the  first  beat.  The  result  is  the  trochaic 
rhythm.  We  can  see  that  this  result  is  inevitable,  even 
if  only  the  question  of  physical  fatigue  is  considered.  .  And, 
to  carry  on  our  theory,  this  very  question  of  fatigue  still 
further  develops  rhythm.  The  strong  beat  always  coming 
on  one  foot,  and  the  light  beat  on  the  other,  would  soon 
tire  the  dancer;  therefore  some  way  must  be  found  to 
make  the  strong  beat  alternate  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 
The  simplest,  and  in  fact  almost  the  only  way  to  do  this, 
is  to  insert  an  additional  short  beat  before  the  light  beat. 

This  gives  us  j  —  ^  —  |  °''  T  *  ^  ^  \,  the  dactyl  in  poetry. 

We  have,  moreover,  here  discovered  the  beginning  of 
form,  and  have  begun  to  group  our  musical   tones  in 


y 

26  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

measures  and  phrases;  for  our  second  dactyl  is  slightly 
different  from  the  first,  because  the  right  foot  begins  the 
first  and  the  left  foot  the  second.    We  have  two  measures 


It".  ^  tI  T.  ""i  T   and  one  phrase,  for  after  the  second 

1 1    I-  ri  I    ^  \  \ 

measure  the  right  foot  will  again  have  the  beat  and  will 
begin  another  phrase  of  two  measures. 

Carry  this  theory  still  further,  and  we  shall  make  new 
discoveries.  If  we  dance  in  the  open  air,  unless  we  would 
dance  over  the  horizon,  we  must  turn  somewhere;  and  if 
we  have  but  a  small  space  in  which  to  dance,  the  turns 
must  come  sooner  and  oftener.  Even  if  we  danced  in  a 
circle  we  should  need  to  reverse  the  motion  occasionally, 
in  order  to  avoid  giddiness;  and  this  would  measure  off 
our  phrases  into  periods  and  sections. 

Thus  we  see  music  dividing  into  two  classes^  one  purely 
en^otional^_J^ye_£)tIiei,jensuous ;  the  one  arising  from  the 
language  of  heroes,  the  other  from  the  swaying  of  the 
body  and  the  patter  of  feet.  To  both  of  these  elements, 
if  we  may  call  them  so,  metre  and  melody  brought  their 
power;  to  declamation,  metre  brought  its  potent  vitaUty; 
to  the  dance,  melody  added  its  soft  charm  and  lulling 
rhyme.  The  intellectual  in  music,  namely,  rhythm  and 
declamation,  thus  joined  forces,  as  did  the  purely  sensu- 
ous elements,  melody  and  metre  (dance).  At  the  first 
glance  it  would  seem  as  if  the  dance  with  its  rhythms 
contradicted  the  theory  of  rhythm  as  being  one  of  the 
two  vital  factors  in  music;  but  when  we  consider  the  fact 
that  dance-rhythms  are  merely  regular  pulsations  (once 
commenced  they  pulsate  regularly  to  the  end,  without 


SONG  VS.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  27 

break  or  change),  and  when  we  consider  that  just  this 
unbroken  regularity  is  the  very  antithesis  of  what  we 
mean  by  rhythm,  the  purely  sensuous  nature  of  the 
dance  is  manifest.  Strauss  was  the  first  to  recognize 
this  defect  in  the  waltz,  and  he  remedied  it,  so  far  as  it 
lay  within  human  skill,  by  a  marvellous  use  of  counter- 
rhythms,  thus  infusing  into  the  dance  a  simulation  of 
intellectuaUty.  v 

The  weaving  together  of  these  elements  into  one  art- 
fabric  has  been  the  ideal  of  all  poets  from  Homer  to 
Wagner.  The  Greeks  ideaUzed  their  dances;  that  is  to 
say,  they  made  their  dances  fit  their  declamation.  In 
the  last  two  centuries,  and  especially  in  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth,  we  have  danced  our  highest  flights  of  impas- 
sioned speech.  For  what  is  the  symphony,  sonata,  etc., 
but  a  remnant  of  the  dance  form?  The  choric  dances  of 
Stesichorus  and  Pindar  came  strangely  near  our  modem 
forms,  but  it  was  because  the  form  fitted  the  poem.  In 
our  modem  days,  we  too  often,  Procrustes-Uke,  make  our 
ideas  to  fit  the  forms.  We  put  our  guest,  the  poetic 
thought,  that  comes  to  us  Uke  a  homing  bird  from  out  the 
mystery  of  the  blue  sky  —  we  put  this  confiding  stranger 
straightway  into  that  iron  bed,  the  "sonata  form,"  or 
perhaps  even  the  third  rondo  form,  for  we  have  quite  an 
assortment.  Should  the  idea  survive  and  grow  too  large 
for  the  bed,  and  if  we  have  learned  to  love  it  too  much  to 
cut  off  its  feet  and  thus  make  it  fit  (as  did  that  old  robber 
of  Attica),  why  we  run  the  risk  of  having  some  critic 
wise  in  his  theoretical  knowledge,  say,  as  was  and  is  said 
of  Chopin,  "He  is  weak  in  sonata  form!" 


28  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

There  are  two  ways  of  looking  at  music:  first,  as  impas- 
sioned speech,  the  nearest  psychologically-complete  utter- 
ance of  emotion  known  to  man;  second,  as  the  dance, 
comprising  as  it  does  all  that  appeals  to  our  nature.  And 
there  is  much  that  is  lovely  in  this  idea  of  nature  —  for 
do  not  the  seasons  dance,  and  is  it  not  in  that  ancient 
measure  we  have  already  spoken  of,  the  trochaic?  Long 
Winter  comes  with  heavy  foot,  and  Spring  is  the  light- 
footed.  Again,  Siunmer  is  long,  and  Autumn  short  and 
cheery;  and  so  our  phrase  begins  again  and  again.  We 
all  know  with  what  periodicity  everything  in  nature  dances, 
and  how  the  smallest  flower  is  a  marvel  of  recurring 
rhymes  and  rhythms,  mth  perfimie  for  a  melody.  How 
Shakespeare's  Beatrice  charms  us  when  she  says,  "  There 
a  star  danced,  and  under  that  was  I  bom. " 

And  yet  man  is  not  part  of  Nature.  Even  in  the 
depths  of  the  primeval  forest,  that  poor  savage,  whom  we 
found  Ustening  fearfully  to  the  sound  of  his  drum,  knew 
better.  Mankind  Uves  in  isolation,  and  Nature  is  a  thing 
for  him  to  conquer.  For  Nature  is  a  thing  that  exists, 
while  man  thinks.  Nature  is  that  which  passively  lives 
while  man  actively  wills.  It  is  the  strain  of  Nature  in 
man  that  gave  him  the  dance,  and  it  is  his  godUke 
fight  against  Nature  that  gave  him  impassioned  speech; 
beauty  of  form  and  motion  on  one  side,  all  that  is  divine 
in  man  pn  the  other;  on  one  side  materialism,  on  the 
other  ideaHsm. 

We  have  traced  the  origin  of  the  drum,  pipe,  and  the 
voice  in  music.  It  still  remains  for  us  to  speak  of  the 
l3rre  and  the  lute,  the  ancestors  of  our  modern  stringed 


SONG  VS.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  29 

instruments.  The  relative  antiquity  of  the  lyre  and  the 
lute  as  compared  with  the  harp  has  been  much  discussed, 
the  main  contention  against  the  lyre  being  that  it  is  a 
more  artificial  instrument  than  the  harp;  the  harp  was 
played  with  the  fingers  alone,  while  the  lyre  was  played 
with  a  plectrum  (a  small  piece  of  metal,  wood,  or  ivory). 
Perhaps  it  would  be  safer  to  take  the  lute  as  the  earliest 
form  of  the  stringed  instrument,  for,  from  the  very  first, 
we  find  two  species  of  instruments  with  strings,  one  played 
with  the  fingers,  the  prototype  of  our  modem  harps, 
banjos,  guitars,  etc.,  the  other  played  with  the  plectrum, 
the  ancestor  of  all  our  modern  stringed  instruments  played 
by  means  of  bows  and  hammers,  such  as  violins,  pianos, 
etc. 

However  this  may  be,  one  thing  is  certain,  the  posses- 
sion of  these  instruments  implies  already  a  considerable 
measure  of  culture,  for  they  were  not  haphazard  things. 
They  were  made  for  a  purpose,  were  invented  to  fill  a  gap 
in  the  ever-increasing  needs  of  expression.  In  Homer  we 
find  a  description  of  the  making  of  a  lyre  by  Hermes, 
how  this  making  of  a  lyre  from  the  shell  of  a  tortoise  that 
happened  to  pass  before  the  entrance  to  the  grotto  of 
his  mother,  Maia,  was  his  first  exploit;  and  that  he  made 
it  to  accompany  his  song  in  praise  of  his  father  Zeus. 
We  must  accept  this  explanation  of  the  origin  of  the  lyre, 
namely,  that  it  was  deliberately  invented  to  accompany 
the  voice.  For  the  lyre  in  its  primitive  state  was  never 
a  solo  instrument;  the  tone  was  weak  and  its  powers  of 
expression  were  exceedingly  limited.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  furnished  an  excellent  background  for  the  voice  and, 


30  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

which  was  still  more  to  the  point,  the  singer  could  accom- 
pany himself.  The  drum  had  too  vague  a  pitch,  and  the 
flute  or  pipe  necessitated  another  performer,  besides 
having  too  much  similarity  of  tone  to  the  voice  to  give 
suflScient  contrast.  Granted  then  that  the  lyre  was 
invented  to  accompany  the  voice,  and  without  wasting 
time  with  surmises  as  to  whether  the  first  idea  of  stringed 
instruments  was  received  from  the  twanging  of  a  bow- 
string or  the  finding  of  a  tortoise  shell  with  the  half- 
dessicated  tendons  of  the  animal  still  stretching  across 
it,  let  us  find  when  the  instrument  was  seemingly  first 
used. 

That  the  lyre  and  lute  are  of  Asiatic  origin  is  generally 
conceded,  and  even  in  comparatively  modern  times, 
Asia  seems  to  be  the  home  of  its  descendants.  The 
Tartars  have  been  called  the  troubadours  of  Asia  —  and 
of  Asia  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  word  —  penetrating 
into  the  heart  of  the  Caucasus  on  the  west  and  reaching 
through  the  country  eastward  to  the  shores  of  the  Yellow 
Sea.  Marco  Polo,  the  celebrated  Venetian  traveller,  and 
/  M.  Hue,  a  French  missionary  to  China  and  Thibet,  as 
well  as  Spencer,  Atkinson,  and  many  others,  speak  of  the 
wandering  bards  of  Asia.  Marco  Polo's  account  of  how 
Jenghiz  Kahn,  the  great  Mongol  conqueror,  sent  an  expe- 
dition composed  entirely  of  minstrels  against  Mien,  a  city 
of  30,000  inhabitants,  has  often  been  quoted  to  show 
what  an  abundance  —  or  perhaps  superfluity  would  be 
the  better  word  —  of  musicians  he  had  at  his  court. 

That  the  lyre  could  not  be  of  Greek  origin  is  proved 
by  the  fact  that  no  root  has  been  discovered  in  the  language 


SONG  VS.  INSTRUMENTAL  MUSIC  31 

for  lyra,  although  there  are  many  special  names  for 
varieties  of  the  instrument.  Leaving  aside  the  question 
of  the  geographical  origin  of  the  instrument,  we  may  say, 
broadly,  that  wherever  we  find  a  nation  with  even  the 
smallest  approach  to  a  history,  there  we  shall  find  bards 
singing  of  the  exploits  of  heroes,  and  always  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  lyre  or  the  lute.  For  at  last,  by 
means  of  these  instruments,  impassioned  speech  was 
able  to  lift  itself  permanently  above  the  level  of  everyday 
life,  and  its  lofty  song  could  dispense  with  the  soft, 
sensuous  lull  of  the  flute.  And  we  shall  see  later  how 
these  bards  became  seers,  and  how  even  our  very  angels 
received  harps,  so  closely  did  the  instrument  become 
associated  with  what  I  have  called  impassioned  speech, 
which,  in  other  words,  is  the  highest  expression  of  what 
we  consider  godlike  in  man. 


m 

THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  HEBREWS  AND  THE 
HINDUS 

The  music  of  the  Hebrews  presents  one  of  the  most 
interesting  subjects  in  musical  history,  although  it  has  an 
unfortunate  defect  in  common  with  so  many  kindred 
subjects,  namely,  that  the  most  learned  dissertation  must 
invariably  end  with  a  question  mark.  When  we  read  in 
Josephus  that  Solomon  had  200,000  singers,  40,000 
harpers,  40,000  sistrum  players,  and  200,000  trumpeters, 
we  simply  do  not  believe  it.  Then  too  there  is  lack  of 
unanimity  in  the  matter  of  the  essential  facts.  One 
authority,  describing  the  machol,  says  it  is  a  stringed  in- 
strument resembling  a  modem  viola;  another  describes  it 
as  a  wind  instrument  somewhat  Uke  a  bagpipe;  still 
another  says  it  is  a  nietal  ring  with  a  bell  attachment 
hke  an  Egyptian  sistrum;  and  finally  an  equally  respected 
authority  claims  that  the  machol  was  not  an  instrument 
at  all,  but  a  dance.  Similarly  the  maanim  has  been  de- 
scribed as  a  trumpet,  a  kind  of  rattle  box  with  metal 
clappers,  and  we  even  have  a  full  account  in  which  it 
figures  as  a  violin. 

The  temple  songs  which  we  know  have  evidently  been 
much  changed  by  surrounding  influences,  just  as  in 
modern  synagogues  the  architecture  has  not  held  fast 
to  ancient  Hebrew  models  but  has  been  greatly  influenced 

32 


MUSIC  OF  THE   HEBREWS  33 

by  different  countries  and  peoples.  David  may  be  con- 
sidered the  founder  of  Hebrew  music,  and  his  reign  has 
been  well  called  an  "idyllic  episode  in  the  otherwise  rather 
grim  history  of  Israel." 

Of  the  instruments  named  in  the  Scriptures,  that  called 
the  harp  in  our  EngUsh  translation  was  probably  the 
kinnor,  a  kind  of  lyre  played  by  means  of  a  plectrum, 
which  was  a  small  piece  of  metal,  wood,  or  bone.  The 
psaltery  or  nebel  (which  was  of  course  derived  from  the 
Egyptian  nabla,  just  as  the  kinnor  probably  was  in  some 
mysterious  manner  derived  from  the  Chinese  kin)  was  a 
kind  of  dulcimer  or  zither,  an  oblong  box  with  strings 
which  were  struck  by  small  hammers.  The  timbrel 
corresponds  to  our  modem  tambourine.  The  schofar 
and  keren  were  horns.  The  former  was  the  well-known 
ram's  horn  which  is  still  blown  on  the  occasion  of  the 
Jewish  New  Year. 

In  the  Talmud  mention  is  made  of  an  organ  consisting 
of  ten  pipes  which  could  give  one  hundred  different  sounds, 
each  pipe  being  able  to  produce  ten  tones.  This  myste- 
rious instnunent  was  called  mee^repha,  and  although  but 
one  Levite  (the  Levites  were  the  professional  musicians 
among  the  Hebrews)  was  required  to  play  it,  and  although 
it  was  only  about  three  feet  in  length,  its  soimd  was 
so  tremendous  that  it  could  be  heard  ten  miles  away. 
Hieronymus  speaks  of  having  heard  it  on  the  Mount  of 
OUves  when  it  was  played  in  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem. 
To  add  to  the  mystery  surrounding  this  instrument,  it 
has  been  proved  by  several  learned  authorities  that  it 
was  merely  a  large  drum;  and,  to  cap  the  climax,  other 


34  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

equally  respected  writers  have  declared  that  this  instru- 
ment was  simply  a  large  shovel  which,  after  being  used 
for  the  sacrificial  fire  in  the  temple,  was  thrown  to  the 
ground  with  a  great  noise,  to  inform  the  people  that  the 
sacrifice  was  consummated. 

It  is  reasonably  certain  that  the  seemingly  incongru- 
ous titles  to  the  Psalms  were  merely  given  to  denote  the 
tune  to  which  they  were  to  be  sung,  just  as  in  our  modern 
hymns  we  use  the  words  Canterbury,  Old  Hundredth, 
China,  etc. 

The  word  selah  has  never  been  satisfactorily  explained, 
some  readings  giving  as  its  meaning  "forever,"  "halle- 
lujah," etc.,  while  others  say  that  it  means  repeat,  an 
inflection  of  the  voice,  a  modulation  to  another  key,  an 
instrumental  interlude,  a  rest,  and  so  on  without  end. 

Of  one  thing  we  may  be  certain  regarding  the  ancient 
Hebrews,  namely,  that  their  religion  brought  something 
into  the  world  that  can  never  again  be  lost.  It  fostered 
idealism,  and  gave  mankind  something  pure  and  noble 
to  live  for,  a  religion  over  which  Christianity  shed  the 
sunshine  of  divine  mercy  and  hope.  That  the  change 
which  was  to  be  wrought  in  life  was  sharply  defined  may 
be  seen  by  comparing  the  great  songs  of  the  different 
nations.  For  up  to  that  time  a  song  of  praise  meant 
praise  of  a  King.  He  was  the  sun  that  warmed  men's 
hearts,  the  being  from  whom  all  wisdom  came,  and  to 
whom  men  looked  for  mercy.  If  we  compare  the  Egyp- 
tian hymns  with  those  of  the  Hebrews,  the  difference  is 
very  striking.  On  the  walls  of  the  great  temples  of 
Luxor  and  the  Ramesseum  at  Thebes,  as  well  as  on  the 


MUSIC  OF  THE  HEBREWS  35 

wall  of  the  temple  of  Abydos  and  in  the  main  hall  of  the 
great  rock-hewn  temple  of  Abu-Simbel,  in  Nubia,  is 
carved  the  "Epic  of  Pentaur,"  the  royal  Egyptian  scribe 
of  Rameses  II: 

My  king,  his  arms  are  mighty,  his  heart  is  firm.  He  bends  his 
bow  and  none  can  resist  him.  Mightier  than  a  hundred  thousand 
men  he  marches  forward.  His  counsel  is  wise  and  when  he  wears 
the  royal  crown,  Alef,  and  declares  his  will,  he  is  the  protector  of 
his  people.  His  heart  is  like  a  mountain  of  iron.  Such  is  King 
Rameses. 

If  we  turn  to  the  Hebrew  prophets,  this  is  their  song: 

The  mountains  melted  from  before  the  Lord  and  before  Him 
went  the  pestilence;  burning  coals  went  forth  at  His  feet.  Hell  is 
naked  before  Him  and  destruction  hath  no  covering.  He  hangeth 
the  earth  upon  nothing  and  the  pillars  of  heaven  tremble  and  are 
astonished  at  His  reproof.  Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
Him.  For  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  at  the  last  day 
He  shall  stand  upon  the  earth. 

t  As  with  the  Hebrews,  music  among  the  Hindus  was 
closely  bound  to  religion.  When,  3000  years  before  the 
Christian  era,  that  wonderful,  tall,  white  Aryan  race  of 
men  descended  upon  India  from  the  north,  its  poets 
already  sang  of  the  gods,  and  the  Aryan  gods  were  of  a 
different  order  from  those  known  to  that  part  of  the 
world;  for  they  were  beautiful  in  shape,  and  friendly  to 
man,  in  great  contrast  to  the  gods  of  the  Davidians,  the 
pre-Aryan  race  and  stock  of  the  Deccan.  These  songs 
formed  the  Rig-Veda,  and  are  the  nucleus  from  which  all 
Hindu  religion  and  art  emanate. 

We  already  know  that  when  the  auxiUary  speech  which 
we  call  music  was  first  discovered,  or,  to  use  the  language 


36  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

of  all  primitive  nations,  when  it  was  first  bestowed  on 
man  by  the  gods,  it  retained  much  of  the  supematura. 
potency  that  its  origin  would  suggest.  [  In  India,  music 
was  invested  with  divine  power,  and  certain  hymns  — 
especially  the  prayer  or  chant  of  Vashishtha  —  were, 
according  to  the  Rig-Veda,  all  powerful  in  battle.  Such 
a  magic  song,  or  chant,  was  called  a  brahtna,  and  he  who 
sang  it  a  brahmin.  Thus  the  very  foundation  of  Brah- 
minism,  from  which  rose  Buddhism  in  the  sixth  century 
B.C.,  can  be  traced  back  to  the  music  of  the  sacred  songs 
of  the  Rig-Veda  of  India.  The  priestly  or  Brahmin 
caste  grew  therefore  from  the  singers  of  the  Vedic  hymns. 
The  Brahmins  were  not  merely  the  keepers  of  the  sacred 
books,  or  Vedas,  the  philosophy,  science,  and  laws  of  the 
ancient  Hindus  (for  that  is  how  the  power  of  the  caste 
developed),  but  they  were  also  the  creators  and  custodians 
of  its  secular  literature  and  art.  Two  and  a  haK  thousand 
years  later  Prince  Gautama  or  Buddha  died,  after  a  life 
of  self-sacrifice  and  sanctity.  On  his  death  five  hundred 
of  his  disciples  met  in  a  cave  near  Rajagriha  to  gather 
together  his  sayings,  and  chanted  the  lessons  of  their 
great  master.  These  songs  became  the  bible  of  Buddhism, 
just  as  the  Vedas  are  the  bible  of  Brahminism,  for  the 
Hindu  word  for  a  Buddhist  council  means  Uterally  "a 
singing  together." 

Besides  the  sacred  songs  of  the  Brahmins  and  Buddhists, 
the  Hindus  had  many  others,  some  of  which  partook  of 
the  occult  powers  of  the  hymns,  occult  powers  that  were 
as  strongly  marked  as  those  of  Hebrew  music.  For 
while  the  latter  are  revealed  in  the  playing  of  David 


MUSIC  OF  THE  HINDUS  37 

before  Saul,  in  the  influence  of  music  on  prophecy,  the 
falling  of  the  walls  of  Jericho  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpets 
of  Joshua,  etc.,  in  India  the  same  supernatural  power 
was  ascribed  to  certain  songs.  For  instance,  there  were 
songs  that  could  be  sung  only  by  the  gods,  and  one  of 
them,  so  the  legend  rims,  if  sung  by  a  mortal,  would 
envelop  the  singer  in  flames.  The  last  instance  of  the 
singing  of  this  song  was  during  the  reign  of  Akbar,  the 
great  Mogul  emperor  (about  1575  A.D.).  At  his  com- 
mand the  singer  sang  it  standing  up  to  his  neck  in  the 
river  Djaumna,  which,  however,  did  not  save  him,  for, 
according  to  the  accoimt,  the  water  aroimd  him  boiled, 
and  he  was  finally  consumed  by  a  flame  of  fire.  Another 
of  Akbar's  singers  caused  the  palace  to  be  wrapped  in 
darkness  by  means  of  one  of  these  magic  songs,  and 
another  averted  a  famine  by  causing  rain  to  fall  when 
the  country  was  threatened  by  drought.  Animals  were 
also  tamed  by  means  of  certain  songs,  the  only  relic  of 
which  is  foimd  in  the  serpent  charmers'  melodies,  which, 
played  on  a  kind  of  pipe,  seem  to  possess  the  power  of 
controlling  cobras  and  the  other  snakes  exhibited  by  the 
Indian  fakirs. 

Many  years  before  Gautama's  time,  the  brahmas  or 
singers  of  sacred  songs  of  ancient  India  formed  themselves 
into  a  caste  or  priesthood;  and  the  word  "Brahma,"  from 
meaning  a  sacred  singer,  became  the  name  of  the  supreme 
deity;  in  time,  as  the  nation  grew,  other  gods  were  taken 
into  the  religion.  Thus  we  find  in  pre-Buddha  times  the 
trinity  of  gods:  Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siva,  with  their 
wives,  Sarasvati  or  learning,  Lakshmi  or  beauty,  and 

1^^  0O\ 


38  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Paravati,  who  was  also  called  Kali,  Durga,  and  Mahadevi, 
and  was  practically  the  goddess  of  evil.  Of  these  gods 
Brahma's  consort,  Sarasvati,  the  goddess  of  speech  and 
learning,  brought  to  earth  the  art  of  music,  and  gave  to 
mankind  the  Vina. 

This  instrument  is  still  in  use  and  may  be  called  the 
national  instrument  of  India.  It  is  composed  of  a  cylin- 
drical pipe,  often  bamboo,  about  three  and  a  half  feet 
long,  at  each  end  of  which  is  fixed  a  hollow  gourd  to 
increase  the  tone.  It  is  strung  lengthwise  with  seven 
metal  wires  held  up  by  nineteen  wooden  bridges,  just  as 
the  violin  strings  are  supported  by  a  bridge.    The  scale  of 


the  instrument  proceeds  in  half  tones  from  E^ : 


The  tones  are  produced  by  plucking  the  strings  with  the 
fingers  (which  are  covered  with  a  kind  of  metal  thimble), 
and  the  instrument  is  held  so  that  one  of  the  gourds  hangs 
over  the  left  shoulder,  just  as  one  would  hold  a  very  long- 
necked  banjo. 

It  is  to  the  Krishna  incarnation  of  Vishnu  that  the 
Hindu  scale  is  ascribed.  According  to  the  legend,  Krishna 
or  Vishnu  came  to  earth  and  took  the  form  of  a  shepherd, 
and  the  nymphs  sang  to  him  in  many  thousand  different 
keys,  of  which  from  twenty-four  to  thirty-six  are  known 
and  form  the  basis  of  Hindu  music.  To  be  sure  these 
keys,  being  formed  by  different  successions  of  quarter- 
tones,  are  practically  inexhaustible,  and  the  16,000  keys 
of  Krishna  are  quite  practicable.  The  differences  in 
tone,  however,  were  so  very  slight  that  only  a  few  of 
them  have  been  retained  to  the  present  time. 


MUSIC  OF  THE  HINDUS  39 

The  Hindus  get  their  flute  from  the  god  Indra,  who, 
from  being  originally  the  all-powerful  deity,  was  relegated 
by  Brahminism  to  the  chief  place  among  the  minor  gods  — 
from  being  the  god  of  light  and  air  he  came  to  be  the  god 
of  music.  His  retinue  consisted  of  the  gandharvas,  and 
apsaras,  or  celestial  musicians  and  nymphs,  who  sang 
magic  songs.  After  the  rise  and  downfall  of  Buddhism 
in  India  the  term  raga  degenerated  to  a  name  for  a  merely 
improvised  chant  to  which  no  occult  power  was  ascribed. 
[_The  principal  characteristics  in  modem  Hindu  music 
are  a  seemingly  instinctive  sense  of  harmony;  and  al- 
though the  actual  chords  are  absent,  the  melodic  forma- 
tion of  the  songs  plainly  indicates  a  feeling  for  modem 
harmony,  and  even  form.  The  actual  scale  resembles 
our  European  scale  of  twelve  semitones  (twenty-two 
s'ruHs,  quarter- tones),  but  the  modal  development  of  these 
soimds  has  been  extraordinary.  Now  a  "mode"  is  the 
manner  in  which  the  notes  of  a  scale  are  arranged.  For 
instance,  in  our  major  mode  the  scale  is  arranged  as  fol- 
lows: tone,  tone,  semitone,  tone,  tone,  tone,  semitone. 
In  India  there  are  at  present  seventy-two  modes  in  use 
which  are  produced  by  making  seventy-two  dififerent 
arrangements  of  the  scale  by  means  of  sharps  and  flats, 
the  only  rule  being  that  each  degree  of  the  scale  must  be 
represented;  for  instance,  one  of  the  modes  Dehrdsan- 
Karabhdrna  corresponds  to  our  major  scale.  Our  minor 
(harmonic)  scale  figures  as  Kyravdni.  Tdnarupi  corre- 
sponds to  the  following  succession  of  notes, 


±3^ 


zpsz 


40  CRITICAL   AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

Gavatnbddi,  to ' 


Mdya-Mdlavagatda,  to  £m. 


It  can  thus  easily  be  seen  how  the  seventy-two  modes  are 
possible  and  practicable.  Observe  that  the  seven  degrees 
of  the  scale  are  all  represented  in  these  modes,  the  differ- 
ence between  them  being  in  the  placing  of  half-tones  by 
means  of  sharps  or  flats.  Not  content  with  the  complexity 
that  this  modal  system  brought  into  their  music,  the 
Hindus  have  increased  it  still  more  by  inventing  a  num- 
ber of  formulae  called  ragas  (not  to  be  confounded  with 
those  rhapsodical  songs,  the  modem  descendant  of  the 
magic  chants,  previously  mentioned). 

In  making  a  Hindu  melody  (which  of  course  must  be 
in  one  of  the  seventy-two  modes,  just  as  in  English  we 
should  say  that  a  melody  must  be  in  one  of  our  two 
modes,  either  major  or  minor)  one  would  have  to  conform 
to  one  of  the  ragas,  that  is  to  say,  the  melodic  outline 
would  have  to  conform  to  certain  rules,  both  in  ascending 
and  descending.  These  rules  consist  of  omitting  notes 
of  the  modes,  in  one  manner  when  the  melody  ascends, 
and  in  another  when  it  descends.  Thus,  in  the  raga 
called  Mohdnna,  in  ascending  the  notes  must  be  arranged 
in  the  following  order:  i,  2,  3,  5,  6,  8;  in  descending  it 
is  8,  7,  5,  4,  2,  I.  Thus  if  we  wished  to  write  a  melody 
in  the  mode  Tdnarupi  —  raga  Mohdnna  —  we  could 
never  use  the  fourth,  F,  or  the  seventh,  B,  if  our  melody 
ascended;  if  our  melody  descended  we  should  have  to 
avoid  the  sixth,  A#,  and  the  third,  Ebb.     As  one  can 


MUSIC  OF  THE  HINDUS  41 

easily  perceive,  many  strange  melodic  effects  are  pro- 
duced by  these  means.  For  instance,  in  the  raga  Mo- 
hdnna,  in  which  the  fourth  and  seventh  degrees  of  the 
scale  are  avoided  in  ascending,  if  it  were  employed  in 
the  mode  Dehrdsin-Karabhdrna,  which  corresponds  to  our 
own  major  scale,  it  would  have  a  pronounced  Scotch 
tinge  so  long  as  the  melody  ascended;  but  let  it  descend 
and  the  Scotch  element  is  deserted  for  a  decided  North 
American  Indian,  notably  Sioux  tinge.  The  Hindus  are 
an  imaginative  race,  and  invest  all  these  ragas  and  modes 
with  mysterious  attributes,  such  as  anger,  love,  fear, 
and  so  on.  They  were  even  personified  as  supernatural 
beings;  each  had  his  or  her  special  name  and  history.  It 
was  proper  to  use  some  of  them  only  at  midday,  some  in 
the  morning,  and  some  at  night.  If  the  mode  or  raga 
is  changed  during  a  piece,  it  is  expressed  in  words,  by 
saying,  for  instance,  that  '^Mohdnna^'  (the  new  "raga") 
is  here  introduced  to  the  family  of  Tdnarupi.  The 
melodies  formed  from  these  modes  and  ragas  are  dixaded 
into  four  classes,  Rektah,  Teranah,  Tuppah,  and  Ragni. 
The  Rektah  is  in  character  light  and  flowing.  It  falls 
naturally  into  regular  periods,  and  resembles  the  Teranah, 
with  the  exception  that  the  latter  is  only  sung  by  men. 
The  character  of  the  Tuppah  is  not  very  clear,  but  the 
Ragni  is  a  direct  descendant  of  the  old  magic  songs  and 
incantations;  in  character  it  is  rhapsodical  and  spasmodic. 


IV 

THE  MUSIC  OF   THE  EGYPTIANS,  ASSYRIANS, 
AND   CHINESE 

In  speaking  of  the  music  of  antiquity  we  are  seriously 
hampered  by  the  fact  that  there  is  practically  no  actual 
music  in  existence  which  dates  back  farther  than  the 
eighth  or  tenth  century  of  the  present  era.  Even  those 
well-known  specimens  of  Greek  music,  as  they  are  claimed 
to  be,  the  hymns  to  Apollo,  Nemesis,  and  Calliope,  do  not 
date  farther  back  than  the  third  or  fourth  century,  and 
even  these  are  by  no  means  generally  considered  authen- 
tic. Therefore,  so  far  as  actual  sounds  go,  all  music  of 
which  we  have  any  practical  knowledge  dates  from  about 
the  twelfth  century. 

Theoretically,  we  have  the  most  minute  knowledge  of 
the  scientific  aspect  of  music,  dating  from  more  than 
five  hundred  years  before  the  Christian  era.  This  knowl- 
edge, however,  is  worse  than  valueless,  for  it  is  misleading. 
For  instance,  it  would  be  a  very  diflficult  thing  for  poster- 
ity to  form  any  idea  as  to  what  our  music  was  like  if 
all  the  actual  music  in  the  world  at  the  present  time 
were  destroyed,  and  only  certain  scientific  works  such 
as  that  of  Helmholtz  on  acoustics  and  a  few  theoretical 
treatises  on  harmony,  form,  counterpoint  and  fugue  were 
saved. 

42 


MUSIC  OF  THE  EGYPTIANS  ,         43 

From  Helmholtz's  analysis  of  sounds  one  would  get  the 
idea  that  the  so-called  tempered  scale  of  our  pianos  caused 
thirds  and  sixths^to  sound  discordantly. 

From  the  books  on  harmony  one  would  gather  that 
consecutive  fifths  and  octaves  and  a  number  of  other 
things  were  never  indulged  in  by  composers,  and  to  cap 
the  chmax  one  would  naturally  accept  the  harmony 
exercises  contained  in  the  books  as  being  the  very  acme 
of  what  we  loved  best  in  music.  Thus  we  see  that  any 
investigation  into  the  music  of  antiquity  must  be  more 
or  less  conjectural. 

Let  us  begin  with  the  music  of  the  Egyptians.  The 
oldest  existing  musical  instnunent  of  which  we  have  any 
knowledge  is  an  Egyptian  Ijnre  to  be  found  in  the  Berhn 
Royal  Museum.  It  is  about  four  thousand  years  old, 
dating  from  the  period  just  before  the  expulsion  of  the 
Hyksos  or  "Shepherd"  kings. 

At  that  time  (the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  dynasty, 
1500-2000  B.  C.)  Egypt  was  just  recovering  from  her 
five  hundred  years  of  bondage,  and  music  must  already 
have  reached  a  wonderful  state  of  development.  In 
wall  paintings  of  the  eighteenth  dynasty  we  see  flutes, 
double  flutes,  and  harps  of  all  sizes,  from  the  small  one 
carried  in  the  hand,  to  the  great  harps,  almost  seven  feet 
high,  with  twenty-one  strings;  the  never-faihng  sistnmi 
(a  kind  of  rattle);  kitharas,  the  ancestors  of  our  modem 
guitars;  lutes  and  lyres,  the  very  first  in  the  Kne  of  instru- 
ments culminating  in  the  modem  piano. 

One  hesitates  to  class  the  trumpets  of  the  Egyptians  in 
the  same  category,  for  they  were  war  instruments,  the 


44  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

tone  of  which  was  probably  always  forced,  for  Herodotus 
says  that  they  sounded  Uke  the  braying  of  a  donkey. 
The  fact  that  the  cheeks  of  the  trumpeter  were  reinforced 
with  leather  straps  would  further  indicate  that  the  instru- 
ments were  used  only  for  loud  signalling. 

According  to  the  mural  paintings  and  sculptures  in 
the  tombs  of  the  Egyptians,  all  these  instruments  were 
played  together,  and  accompanied  the  voice.  It  has  long 
been  maintained  that  harmony  was  unknown  to  the 
ancients  because  of  the  mathematical  measurement  of 
soimds.  This  might  be  plausible  for  strings,  but  pipes 
could  be  cut  to  any  size.  The  positions  of  the  hands  of 
the  executants  on  the  harps  and  lyres,  as  well  as  the  use  of 
short  and  long  pipes,  make  it  appear  probable  that  some- 
thing of  what  we  call  harmony  was  known  to  the  Egyptians. 

We  must  also  consider  that  their  paintings  and  sculp- 
tures were  eminently  symbolic.  When  one  carves  an 
explanation  in  hard  granite  it  is  apt  to  be  done  in  short- 
hand, as  it  were.  Thus,  a  tree  meant  a  forest,  a  prisoner 
meant  a  whole  army;  therefore,  two  sculptured  harpists 
or  flute  players  may  stand  for  twenty  or  two  hundred. 
Athenaeus,  who  Uved  at  the  end  of  the  second  and  begin- 
ning of  the  third  century,  A.  D.,  speaks  of  orchestras  of 
six  himdred  in  Ptolemy  Philadelphus 's  time  (300  B.  C), 
and  says  that  three  himdred  of  the  players  were  harpers, 
in  which  number  he  probably  includes  players  on  other 
stringed  instruments,  such  as  lutes  and  lyres.  It  is  there- 
fore to  be  inferred  that  the  other  three  hundred  played  wind 
and  percussion  instruments.  This  is  an  additional  reason 
for  conjecturing  that  they  used  chords  in  their  music;  for 


MUSIC  OF    THE   EGYPTIANS  45 

six  hiindred  players,  not  to  count  the  singers,  would  hardly 
play  entirely  in  unison  or  in  octaves.  The  very  nature 
of  the  harp  is  chordal,  and  the  sculptures  always  depict 
the  performer  playing  with  both  hands,  the  fingers  being 
more  or  less  outstretched.  That  the  music  must  have 
been  of  a  deep,  sonorous  character,  we  may  gather  from 
the  great  size  of  the  harps  and  the  thickness  of  their 
strings.  As  for  the  flutes,  they  also  are  pictured  as  being 
very  long;  therefore  they  must  have  been  low  in  pitch. 
The  reed  pipes,  judging  from  the  pictures  and  sculp- 
tures, were  no  higher  in  pitch  than  our  oboes,  of  which 
the  highest  note  is  D  and  E  above  the  treble  staff. 

It  is  claimed  that  so  far  as  the  harps  were  concerned, 
the  music  must  have  been  strictly  diatonic  in  character. 
To  quote  Rowbotham,  "the  harp,  which  was  the  foimda- 
tion  of  the  Egyptian  orchestra,  is  an  essentially  non- 
chromatic  instrument,  and  could  therefore  only  play  a 
straight  up  and  down  diatonic  scale."  Continuing  he 
says,  "It  is  plain  therefore  that  the  Egyptian  harmony 
was  purely  diatonic;  such  a  thing  as  modern  modulation 
was  unknown,  and  every  piece  from  beginning  to  end  was 
played  in  the  same  key."  That  this  position  is  utterly 
untenable  is  very  eiident,  for  there  was  nothing  to  pre- 
vent the  Egyptians  from  tuning  their  harps  in  the  same 
order  of  tones  and  half  tones  as  is  used  for  our  modem 
pianos.  That  this  is  even  probable  may  be  assumed 
from  the  scale  of  a  flute  dating  back  to  the  eighteenth 
or  nineteenth  century  B.  C.  (1700  or  1600  B.  C),  which 
was  found  in  the  royal  tombs  at  Thebes,  and  which  is 
now  in  the  Florence  Museum. 


46  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Its  scale  was 


4=1 


The  only  thing  about  which  we  may  be  reasonably 
certain  in  regard  to  Egyptian  music  is  that,  like  Egyptian 
architecture,  it  must  have  been  very  massive,  on  account 
of  the  preponderance  in  the  orchestra  of  the  low  tones  of 
the  stringed  instruments. 

The  sistrum  was,  properly  speaking,  not  considered  a 
musical  instrument  at  aU.  It  was  used  only  in  religious 
ceremonies,  and  may  be  considered  as  the  ancestor  of  the 
bell  that  is  rung  at  the  elevation  of  the  Host  in  Roman 
Catholic  churches.  Herodotus  (born  485  B.  C.)  tells  us 
much  about  Egyptian  music,  how  the  great  festival  at  Bu- 
bastis  in  honour  of  the  Egyptian  Diana  {Bast  or  Pasckt),  to 
whom  the  cat  was  sacred,  was  attended  yearly  by  700,000 
people  who  came  by  water,  the  boats  resounding  with  the 
clatter  of  castanets,  the  clapping  of  hands,  and  the  soft 
tones  of  thousands  of  flutes.  Again  he  tells  us  of  music 
played  during  banquets,  and  speaks  of  a  mournful  song 
called  Maneros.  This,  the  oldest  song  of  the  Egyptians 
(dating  back  to  the  first  dynasty),  was  symbolical  of  the 
passing  away  of  life,  and  was  sung  in  connection  with  that 
gruesome  custom  of  bringing  in,  towards  the  end  of  a  ban- 
quet, an  efl&gy  of  a  corpse  to  remind  the  guests  that  death 
is  the  birthright  of  all  mankind,  a  custom  which  was 
adopted  later  by  the  Romans. 


MUSIC  OF  THE   EGYPTIANS  47 

Herodotus  also  gives  us  a  vague  but  very  suggestive 
glimpse  of  what  may  have  been  the  genesis  of  Greek 
tragedy,  for  he  was  permitted  to  see  a  kind  of  nocturnal 
Egyptian  passion  play,  in  which  evidently  the  tragedy 
of  Osiris  was  enacted  with  ghastly  realism.  Osiris,  who 
represents  the  light,  is  hunted  by  Set  or  Typhon,  the  god 
of  darkness,  and  finally  torn  to  pieces  by  the  followers 
of  Set,  and  buried  beneath  the  waters  of  the  lake;  Horus, 
the  son  of  Osiris,  avenges  his  death  by  subduing  Set,  and 
Osiris  appears  again  as  the  ruler  of  the  shadowland  of 
death. 

This  strange  tragedy  took  place  at  night,  on  the  shore 
of  the  lake  behind  the  great  temple  at  Sals.  Osiris  was 
dressed  royally,  in  white,  and  after  the  horrible  pursuit 
and  his  murder  by  Set  and  his  sinister  band,  Horus, 
the  rising  sun,  dispels  the  gloom,  and  a  glorious  new  god 
of  light  appears.  Set  and  his  followers  are  driven  back 
to  the  gloomy  temple  where,  perhaps,  there  was  another 
scene  showing  the  shade  of  Osiris,  enthroned  and  ruling 
the  dead.  We  have  no  means  of  knowing  the  character 
of  the  music  which  accompanied  this  mystery  play;  but 
certainly  the  deep  tones  of  the  harps  and  the  flutes, 
together  with  the  chanting  of  men's  voices,  must  have 
been  appropriate.  Add  to  these  the  almost  silent  rattle 
of  the  sistrum,  which,  for  the  Egyptians,  possessed  some- 
thing of  the  supernatural,  and  we  have  an  orchestral 
colouring  which  is  suggestive,  to  say  the  least. 

With  this  we  will  leave  Egyptian  music,  simply  calling 
attention  to  the  works  of  ReseUini,  Lepsius,  Wilkinson, 
and  Petri,  which  contain  copies  of  mural  paintings  and 


48  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

temple  and  tomb  sculptures  relating  to  music.  For 
instance,  pages  103,  106,  and  iii  of  Lepsius's  third 
book,  "Die  Denkmaler  aus  JEgypten  und  iEthiopen," 
will  be  found  very  interesting,  particularly  page  106,  which 
shows  some  of  the  rooms  of  the  palace  of  Amenotep  IV, 
of  the  eighteenth  dynasty  (about  1500  or  1600  B.  C), 
in  which  dancing  and  music  is  being  taught.  In  the 
same  work,  second  book,  on  pages  52  and  53,  are  pictures 
taken  from  a  tomb  near  Gizeh,  showing  harp  and  flute 
players  and  singers.  The  position  of  the  hands  of  the 
singers  —  they  hold  them  behind  their  ears  —  is  a  manner 
of  illustrating  the  act  of  hearing,  and  arises  from  the 
hieroglyphic  double  way  of  putting  things;  for  instance, 
in  writing  hieroglyphics  the  word  is  often  first  spelled  out, 
then  comes  another  sign  for  the  pronimciation,  then  some- 
times even  two  other  signs  to  emphasize  its  meaning. 

The  music  of  the  Assyrians  may  be  smnmed  up  very 
briefly.  All  that  can  be  gathered  from  the  bas-relief 
sculptures  is  that  shrill  tones  and  acute  pitch  must  have 
characterized  their  music.  As  Rowbotham  says,  alluding 
to  the  Sardanapalus  wall  sculpture  now  in  the  British 
Museum  in  London,  "What  can  one  think  of  the  musical 
delicacy  of  a  nation  the  King  of  which,  dining  alone  with 
his  queen,  chooses  to  be  regaled  with  the  sounds  of  a 
lyre  and  a  big  drum  close  at  his  elbow?"  The  instru- 
ments represented  in  these  bas-reliefs,  aside  from  the 
dnmi,  are  high-pitched:  flutes,  pipes,  tnmipets,  cymbals, 
and  the  smaller  stringed  instruments.  These  were  all 
portable,  and  some,  such  as  drums  and  dulcimers,  were 
strapped  to  the  body,  all  of  which^points  to  the  eminently 


MUSIC  OF  THE  ASSYRIANS  49 

warlike  character  of  the  people.  Instead  of  clapping  the 
hands  to  mark  the  time  as  did  the  Egyptians,  they  stamped 
their  feet.  The  dulcimer  was  somewhat  Uke  a  modern 
zither,  and  may  be  said  to  contain  the  germ  of  our  piano; 
for  it  was  in  the  form  of  a  flat  case,  strapped  to  the  body 
and  held  horizontally  in  front  of  the  player.  The  strings 
were  struck  with  a  kind  of  plectrum,  held  in  the  right 
hand,  and  were  touched  mth  the  left  hand  immediately 
afterwards  to  stop  the  vibration,  just  as  the  dampers  in 
the  pianoforte  fall  on  the  string  the  moment  the  key  is 
released.  There  existed  among  the  Chaldeans  a  science 
of  music,  which,  of  course,  is  a  very  different  thing  from 
practical  music,  but  it  was  so  imbued  with  astronomical 
symbolism  that  it  seems  hardly  worth  while  to  consider 
it  here.  The  art  of  Babylonia  and  Assyria  culminated 
in  architecture  and  bas-relief  sculpture,  and  it  is  chiefly 
valuable  as  being  the  germ  from  which  Greek  art  was 
developed. 

In  considering  Chinese  music  one  has  somewhat  the 
same  feeling  as  one  would  have  in  looking  across  a  flat 
plain.  There  are  no  moimtains  in  Chinese  music,  and  there 
is  nothing  in  its  history  to  make  us  think  that  it  was  ever 
anything  but  a  more  or  less  puerile  playing  with  sound; 
therefore  there  is  no  separating  modem  Chinese  music 
from  that  of  antiquity.  To  be  sure,  Confucius  (about 
500  B.  C.)  said  that  to  be  well  governed  a  nation  must 
possess  good  music.  Pythagoras,  Aristotle,  and  Plato,  in 
Greece,  said  the  same  thing,  and  their  maxims  proved  a 
very  important  factor  in  the  music  of  ancient  times,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  an  art  controlled  by  government 


50  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

can  have  nothing  very  vital  about  it.  Hebrew  music 
was  utterly  annihilated  by  laws,  and  the  poetic  imagina- 
tion thus  pent  up  found  its  vent  in  poetry,  the  result 
being  some  of  the  most  wonderful  works  the  world 
has  ever  known.  In  Egypt,  this  current  of  inspiration 
from  the  very  beginning  was  turned  toward  architecture. 
In  Greece,  music  became  a  mere  stage  accessory  or  a 
subject  for  the  dissecting  table  of  mathematics;  in  China, 
we  have  the  dead  level  of  an  obstinate  adherence  to 
tradition,  thus  proving  Sir  Thomas  Browne's  saying, 
"The  mortallest  enemy  unto  knowledge,  and  that  which 
hath  done  the  greatest  execution  upon  truth,  hath  been  a 
peremptory  adhesion  unto  tradition,  and  more  especially 
the  estabUshing  of  our  own  beUef  upon  the  dictates  of 
antiquity." 

The  Chinese  theory  is  that  there  are  eight  different 
musical  sounds  in  nature,  namely: 

1.  The  sound  of  skin. 

2.  The  sound  of  stone. 

3.  The  sound  of  metal. 

4.  The  sound  of  clay. 

5.  The  sound  of  silk. 

6.  The  sound  of  wood. 

*  7.  The  sound  of  bamboo. 
8.  The  sound  of  gourd. 

The  sound  of  skin  has  a  number  of  varieties,  all  differ- 
ent kinds  of  drums. 

The  soimd  of  stone  is  held  by  the  Chinese  to  be  the 
most  beautiful  among  sounds,  one  between  that  of  metal 
and  of  wood.    The  principal  instnunent  in  this  category 


MUSIC  OF  THE  CHINESE  51 

is  the  king,  and  in  mythology  it  is  the  chosen  instniment 
of  Kouei,  the  Chinese  Orpheus.  This  instniment  has  a 
large  framework  on  which  are  hung  sixteen  stones  of 
different  sizes,  which  are  struck,  like  drums,  with  a  kind 
of  hammer.  According  to  Amiot,  only  a  certain  kind  of 
stone  found  near  the  banks  of  the  river  Tee  will  serve  for 
the  making  of  these  instriunents,  and  in  the  year  2200  B.  C. 
the  Emperor  Yu  assessed  the  different  provinces  so  many 
stones  each  for  the  palace  instruments,  in  place  of  tribute. 

The  sound  of  metal  is  embodied  in  the  various  kinds 
of  bells,  which  are  arranged  in  many  different  series, 
sometimes  after  the  patterns  of  the  king,  while  sometimes 
they  are  played  separately. 

The  sound  of  clay,  or  baked  earth,  is  given  by  a  kind 
of  round  egg  made  of  porcelain  —  for  that  is  what  it 
amoimts  to  —  pierced  with  five  holes  and  a  mouthpiece, 
upon  blowing  through  which  the  sound  is  produced  — 
an  instrument  somewhat  suggestive  of  our  ocarina. 

The  sound  of  silk  is  given  by  two  instnunents:  one 
a  kind  of  flat  harp  with  seven  strings,  called  che,  the 
other  with  twenty-five  strings,  called  kin,  in  size  from 
seven  to  nine  feet  long.  The  ancient  form  of  this  instru- 
ment is  said  to  have  had  fifty  strings. 

The  soimd  of  wood  is  a  strange  element  in  a  Chinese 
orchestra,  for  it  is  produced  in  three  different  ways: 
first,  by  an  instrument  in  the  form  of  a  square  wooden 
box  with  a  hole  in  one  of  its  sides  through  which  the 
hand,  holding  a  small  mallet,  is  inserted,  the  sound  of 
wood  being  produced  by  hammering  with  the  mallet  on 
the  inside  walls  of  the  box,  just  as  the  clapper  strikes  a 


52  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

bell.  This  box  is  placed  at  the  northeast  comer  of  the 
orchestra,  and  begins  every  piece.  Second,  by  a  set  of 
strips  of  wood  strung  on  a  strap  or  cord,  the  sound  of  which 
is  obtained  by  beating  the  palm  of  the  hand  with  them. 
The  third  is  the  strangest  of  all,  for  the  instrument  con- 
sists of  a  life-size  wooden  tiger.  It  has  a  number  of  teeth 
or  pegs  along  the  ridge  of  its  back,  and  it  is  "played" 
by  stroking  these  pegs  rapidly  with  a  wooden  staff,  and 
then  striking  the  tiger  on  the  head.  This  is  the  pre- 
scribed end  of  every  Chinese  orchestral  composition,  and 
is  supposed  to  be  a  symbol  of  man's  supremacy  over 
brute  creation.  The  tiger  has  its  place  in  the  northwest 
comer  of  the  orchestra. 

The  sound  of  bamboo  is  represented  in  the  familiar 
form  of  Pan's  pipes,  and  various  forms  of  flutes  which 
hardly  need  further  description. 

And  finally  the  sound  of  the  gourd.  The  gourd  is  a  kind 
of  squash,  hollowed  out,  in  which  from  thirteen  to  twenty- 
four  pipes  of  bamboo  or  metal  are  inserted;  each  one  of  these 
pipes  contains  a  metal  reed,  the  vibration  of  which  causes 
the  sound.  Below  the  reed  are  cut  small  holes  in  the  pipes, 
and  there  is  a  pipe  with  a  mouthpiece  to  keep  the  gourd, 
which  is  practically  an  air  reservoir,  full  of  air.  The  air 
rushing  out  through  the  bamboo  pipes  will  naturally 
escape  through  the  holes  cut  below  the  reeds,  making  no 
sound,  but  if  the  finger  stops  one  or  more  of  these  holes, 
the  air  is  forced  up  through  the  reeds,  thus  giving  a  musi- 
cal sound,  the  pitch  of  which  will  be  dependent  on  the 
length  of  the  pipes  and  the  force  with  which  the  air  passes 
through  the  reed. 


MUSIC  OF  THE  CHINESE  53 

Other  instruments  of  the  Chinese  are  gongs  of  all 
sizes,  trumpets,  and  several  stringed  instrimients  some- 
what akin  to  our  guitars  and  mandolins.  Neither  the 
Chinese  nor  the  Japanese  have  ever  seemed  to  consider 
the  voice  as  partaking  of  the  nature  of  music.  This  is 
strange,  for  the  language  of  the  Chinese  depends  on 
flexibility  of  the  voice  to  make  it  even  intelligible.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  singing,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  is  unknown 
to  them. 


THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  CHINESE  (Continued) 

Having  described  the  musical  instruments  in  use  in 
China  we  still  have  for  consideration  the  music  itself, 
and  the  conditions  which  led  up  to  it. 

Among  the  Chinese  instriunents  mentioned  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  the  preponderance  of  instruments  of 
percussion,  such  as  drums,  gongs,  bells,  etc.,  has  prob- 
ably been  noticed.  In  connection  with  the  last  named 
we  meet  with  one  of  the  two  cases  in  Chinese  art  in  which 
we  see  the  same  imdercurrent  of  feeling,  or  rather  super- 
stition, as  that  found  among  western  nations.  We  read 
in  the  writings  of  Mencius,  the  Chinese  philosopher  (350 
B.  C),  the  following  bit  of  gossip  about  the  king  Senen 
of  Tse. 

"The  king, "  said  he,  "was  sitting  aloft  in  the  hall,  when 
a  man  appeared,  leading  an  ox  past  the  lower  part  of  it. 
The  king  saw  him,  and  asked,  'Where  is  the  ox  going?' 

"The  man  replied,  *We  are  going  to  consecrate  a  bell 
with  its  blood. ' 

"  The  king  said,  'Let  it  go.  I  cannot  bear  its  frightened 
appearance  as  if  it  were  an  innocent  person  going  to  the 
place  of  death. ' 

"  The  man  answered,  '  Shall  we  then  omit  the  consecra- 
tion of  the  bell? ' 

54 


MUSIC  OF  THE  CHINESE  55 

"The  king  said,  'How  can  that  be  omitted?  Change 
the  ox  for  a  sheep.'  " 

As  stated  before,  this  is  one  of  the  few  cases  in  which 
Chinese  superstition  coincides  with  that  of  the  West; 
for  our  own  church  bells  were  once  consecrated  in  very 
much  the  same  manner,  a  survival  of  that  ancient  uni- 
versal custom  of  sacrifice.  With  the  exception  of  this 
resemblance,  which,  however,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
actual  music,  everything  in  Chinese  art  is  exactly  the 
opposite  of  our  western  ideas  on  the  subject. 

The  Chinese  orchestra  is  composed  of  about  sixteen 
different  types  of  percussion  instruments  and  four  kinds  of 
wind  and  stringed  instruments,  whereas  in  our  European 
orchestras  the  ratio  is  exactly  reversed.  Their  orchestras 
are  placed  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  ours  in  front  of  it. 
The  human  voice  is  not  even  mentioned  in  their  list  of 
musical  sounds  (sound  of  metal,  baked  clay,  wood, 
skin,  bamboo,  etc).,  whereas  we  consider  it  the  most 
nearly  perfect  instrument  existing.  This  strange  per- 
versity once  caused  much  discussion  in  days  when  we  knew 
less  of  China  than  we  do  at  present,  as  to  whether  the 
Chinese  organs  of  hearing  were  not  entirely  different 
from  those  of  western  nations.  We  now  know  that  this 
contradiction  nms  through  all  their  habits  of  Ufe.  With 
them  white  is  the  colour  indicative  of  mourning;  the 
place  of  honour  is  on  the  left  hand;  the  seat  of  intellect 
is  in  the  stomach;  to  take  off  one's  hat  is  considered  an 
insolent  gesture;  the  magnetic  needle  of  the  Chinese  com- 
pass is  reckoned  as  pointing  south,  instead  of  north;  even 
up  to  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  chief  weapon 


56  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

in  war  was  the  bow  and  arrow,  although  they  were  long  be- 
fore acquainted  with  gunpowder  —  and  so  on,  ad  infinitum. 
We  are  aware  that  the  drum  is  the  most  primitive  instru- 
ment known  to  man.  If  all  our  knowledge  of  the  Chinese 
were  included  in  a  simple  list  of  their  orchestral  instru- 
ments, we  should  recognize  at  once  that  the  possession 
of  the  gourd,  mouth-organ,  and  lute  indicates  a  nation 
which  has  reached  a  high  state  of  civihzation;  on  the 
other  hand,  the  great  preponderance  of  bells,  gongs,  drums, 
etc.,  points  immistakably  to  the  fact  that  veneration  of 
the  laws  and  traditions  of  the  past  (a  past  of  savage  bar- 
barism), and  a  bUnd  acquiescence  in  them,  must  constitute 
the  principal  factor  in  that  civilization.  The  writings 
of  Chinese  philosophers  are  full  of  wise  sayings  about 
music,  but  in  practice  the  music  itself  becomes  almost 
unbearable.  For  instance,  in  the  Confucian  Analects  we 
read,  "The  Master  (Confucius)*  said:  'How  to  play  music 
may  be  known.  At  the  commencement  of  the  piece,  all 
the  parts  should  sound  together.  As  it  proceeds,  they 
should  be  in  harmony,  severally  distinct,  and  flowing 
without  a  break,  and  thus  on  to  the  conclusion.'"  The 
definition  is  certainly  remarkable  when  one  considers 
that  it  was  given  about  five  hundred  years  before  our 
era.  In  practice,  however,  the  Chinese  do  not  distinguish 
between  musical  combinations  of  soimd  and  noise;  therefore 
the  above  definition  must  be  taken  in  a  very  different 
sense  from  that  which  ordinarily  would  be  the  case.  By 
harmony,  Confucius  evidently  means  similarity  of  noises, 

*  Kong.    His  disciples  called  him  Fu  Tsee,  or  "  the  master  ";  Jesuit 
missionaries  Latinized  this  to  Confucius. 


MUSIC  OF  THE  CfflNESE  57 

and  by  "melody  flowing  without  a  break"  he  means 
absolute  monotony  of  rhythm.  We  know  this  from  the 
hymns  to  the  ancestors  which,  with  the  hymns  to  the 
Deity,  are  the  sacred  songs  of  China,  songs  which  have 
come  down  from  time  immemorial. 

According  to  Amiot  one  of  the  great  court  functions 
is  the  singing  of  the  "  Hymn  to  the  Ancestors,"  which  is 
conducted  by  the  Emperor.  \  Outside  the  hall  where  this 
ceremony  takes  place  are  stationed  a  number  of  bell  and 
gong  players  who  may  not  enter,  but  who,  from  time  to 
time,  according  to  fixed  laws,  join  in  the  music  played  and 
sung  inside.  In  the  hall  the  orchestra  is  arranged  in  the 
order  prescribed  by  law:  the  ou,  or  wooden  tiger,  which 
ends  every  piece,  is  placed  at  the  northwest  end  of  the 
orchestra,  and  the  tschou,  or  wooden  box-dnmi,  which 
begins  the  music,  at  the  northeast;  in  the  middle  are 
placed  the  singers  who  accompany  the  hymn  by  postur- 
ing as  well  ^s  by  chanting.  At  the  back  of  the  hall  are 
pictures  of  the  ancestors,  or  merely  tablets  inscribed 
with  their  names,  before  which  is  a  kind  of  altar,  bearing 
flowers  and  offerings.  The  first  verse  of  the  hymn  consists 
of  eight  Unes  in  praise  of  the  godlike  virtues  of  the  ances- 
tors, whose  spirits  are  supposed  to  descend  from  Heaven 
and  enter  the  hall  during  the  singing  of  this  verse  by 
the  chorus.  Then  the  Emperor  prostrates  himself  three 
times  before  the  altar,  touching  his  head  to  the  earth 
each  time.  As  he  offers  the  Ubations  and  bums  the  per- 
fumes on  the  altar,  the  chorus  sings  the  second  verse  of 
eight  Unes,  in  which  the  spirits  are  thanked  for  answering 
the  prayer  and  entreated  to  accept  the  offerings.    The 


58  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Emperor  then  prostrates  himself  nine  times,  after  which 
he  resumes  his  position  before  the  altar,  while  the  last 
verse  of  eight  lines,  eulogistic  of  the  ancestors,  is  being 
chanted;  during  this  the  spirits  are  supposed  to  ascend 
again  to  Heaven.  The  hymn  ends  with  the  scraping  of 
the  tiger's  back  and  striking  it  on  the  head.  ' 

We  can  imagine  the  partial  gloom  of  this  species  of 
chapel,  lighted  by  many  burning,  smoky  joss-sticks,  with 
its  glint  of  many-coloured  silks,  and  gold  embroidery;  the 
whining,  nasal,  half-spoken,  monotonous  drone  of  the 
singers  with  their  writhing  figures  bespangled  with  gold 
and  vivid  colour;  the  incessant  stream  of  shrill  tones  from 
the  wind  instnmients;  the  wavering,  light  clatter  of  the 
musical  stones  broken  by  the  steady  crash  of  gongs  and 
the  deep  booming  of  large  drums;  while  from  outside,  the 
most  monstrous  bell-like  noises  vaguely  penetrate  the 
smoke-laden  atmosphere.  The  ceremony  must  be  barba- 
rously impressive;  the  strange  magnificence  of  it  all,  to- 
gether with  the  beUef  in  the  actual  presence  of  the  spirits, 
which  the  vague  white  wreaths  of  joss-stick  smoke  help  to 
suggest,  seem  to  lend  it  dignity.  From  the  point  of  view 
of  what  we  call  music,  the  hymn  is  childish  enough;  but 
we  must  keep  in  mind  the  definition  of  Confucius.  Accord- 
ing to  the  Chinese,  music  includes  that  phase  of  soimd 
which  we  call  mere  noise,  and  the  harmonizing  of  this 
noise  is  Chinese  art.  We  must  admit,  therefore,  that 
from  this  point  of  view  their  orchestra  is  well  balanced, 
for  what  will  rhyme  better  with  noise  than  more  noise? 
The  gong  is  best  answered  by  the  dnmi,  and  the  tomtom 
by  the  great  bell. 


MUSIC  OF  THE   CHINESE 


59 


China  also  has  its  folk  song,  which  seems  to  be  an 
irrepressible  flower  of  the  field  in  all  countries.  This  also 
follows  the  precepts  of  the  sages  in  using  only  the  five- 
note  or  pentatonic  scale  found  among  so  many  other 
nationalities.  It  differs,  however,  from  the  ofl&cial  or 
religious  music,  inasmuch  as  that  unrhythmic  perfection 
of  monotony,  so  loved  by  Confucius,  Mencius,  and  their 
followers,  is  discarded  in  favour  of  a  style  more  naturally 
in  touch  with  human  emotion.  These  folk  songs  have  a 
strong  similarity  to  Scotch  and  Irish  songs,  owing  to  the 
absence  of  the  fourth  and  seventh  degrees  of  the  scale. 
If  they  were  really  sung  to  the  accompaniment  of  chords, 
the  resemblance  would  be  very  striking.  The  Chinese 
singing  voice,  however,  is  not  sonorous,  the  quaHty 
commonly  used  being  a  kind  of  high,  nasal  whine,  very  far 
removed  from  what  we  call  music.  The  accompaniment 
of  the  songs  is  of  a  character  most  discordant  to  European 
ears,  consisting  as  it  does  mainly  of  constant  drum  or 
gong  beats  interspersed  with  the  shrill  notes  of  the  kin, 
the  principal  Chinese  stringed  instriunent.  Ambros,  the 
historian,  quotes  a  number  of  these  melodies,  but  falls 
into  a  strange  mistake,  for  his  version  of  a  folk  song 
called  "  T sin-fa  "  is  as  follows: 


^i#^#aq 


iiffi 


AlU 


-*-T 


6o 


CRITICAL  AND   fflSTORICAL   ESSAYS 


Now  this  is  exactly  as  if  a  Chinaman,  wishing  to  give  his 
countrymen  an  idea  of  a  Beethoven  sonata,  were  to  elim- 
inate all  the  harmony  and  leave  only  the  bare  melody 
accompanied  by  indiscriminate  beats  on  the  gong  and  a 
steady  banging  on  two  or  three  drums  of  different  sizes. 
This  is  certainly  the  manner  in  which  the  little  melody 
just  quoted  would  be  accompanied,  and  not  by  European 
chords  and  rhythms. 

If  we  could  eliminate  from  our  minds  all  thoughts  of 
music  and  bring  ourselves  to  hsten  only  to  the  texture 
of  sounds,  we  could  better  understand  the  Chinese  ideal 
of  musical  art.  For  instance,  if  in  hstening  to  the  deep, 
slow  vibrations  of  a  large  gong  we  ignore  completely  all 
thought  of  pitch,  fixing  our  attention  only  upon  the 
roundness  and  fullness  of  the  sound  and  the  way  it  gradu- 
ally diminishes  in  volume  without  losing  any  of  its  pul- 
sating colour,  we  should  then  realize  what  the  Chinese 
call  music.     Confucius  said,  "When  the  music  master 


MUSIC  OF  THE   CHINESE  6l 

Che  first  entered  on  his  office,  the  finish  with  the  Kwan- 
Ts'eu  (Pan's-pipes)  was  magnificent  —  how  it  filled  the 
ears!"  And  that  is  just  what  Chinese  music  aims  to 
do,  it  "fills  the  ears"  and  therefore  is  "magnificent."* 

With  their  views  as  to  what  constitutes  the  beautiful 
in  music  it  is  not  strange  that  the  Chinese  find  our  music 
detestable.  It  goes  too  fast  for  them.  They  ask,  "  Why 
play  another  entirely  different  kind  of  sound  until  one 
has  already  enjoyed  to  the  full  what  has  gone  before?" 
As  they  told  Pere  Amiot  many  years  ago:  "Our  music 
penetrates  through  the  ear  to  the  heart,  and  from  the 
heart  to  the  soul;  that  your  music  cannot  do."  Amiot 
had  played  on  a  harpsichord  some  pieces  by  Rameau 
("Les  Cyclopes,"  " Les  Charmes,"  etc.)  and  much  flute 
music,  but  they  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

According  to  their  conception  of  music,  soimds  must 
follow  one  another  slowly,  in  order  to  pass  through  the 

*  The  Chinese  theatre  has  been  called  an  unconscious  parody  of 
our  old-fashioned  Italian  opera,  and  there  are  certainly  many  resem- 
blances. In  a  Chinese  play,  when  the  situation  becomes  tragic,  or 
when  one  of  the  characters  is  seized  with  some  strong  emotion,  it 
finds  vent  in  a  kind  of  aria.  The  dialogue  is  generally  given  in  the 
most  monotonous  manner  possible  —  using  only  high  throat  and 
head  tones,  occasionally  lowering  or  raising  the  voice  on  a  word, 
to  express  emotion.  This  monotonous,  and  to  European  ears, 
strangely  nonchalant,  nasal  recitative,  is  being  continually  inter- 
rupted by  gong  povmding  and  the  shrill,  high  sound  of  discordant 
reed  instnmients.  When  one  or  more  of  the  characters  commits 
suicide  (which  as  we  know  is  an  honoured  custom  in  China)  he  sings  — 
or  rather  whines  —  a  long  chant  before  he  dies,  just  as  his  western 
operatic  colleagues  do,  as,  for  instance,  Edgar  in  "  Lucia  di  Lammer- 
moor"  and  even,  to  come  nearer  home,  Siegfried  in  "Gotterdam- 
merung." 


62  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

ears  to  the  heart  and  thence  to  the  soul;  therefore  they 
went  back  with  renewed  satisfaction  to  their  long,  monot- 
onous chant  accompanied  by  a  pulsating  fog  of  clangour. 

Some  years  ago,  at  the  time  of  that  sudden  desire  of 
China,  or  more  particularly  of  Li  Hung  Chang,  to  know 
more  of  occidental  ci\ilization,  some  Chinese  students 
were  sent  by  their  government  to  Berhn  to  study  music. 
After  about  a  month's  residence  in  BerHn  these  students 
wrote  to  the  Chinese  government  asking  to  be  recalled, 
as  they  said  it  would  be  folly  to  remain  in  a  barbarous 
country  where  even  the  most  elementary  principles  of 
music  had  not  yet  been  grasped. 

To  go  deeply  into  the  more  technical  side  of  Chinese 
music  would  be  a  thankless  task,  for  in  the  Chinese  char- 
acter the  practical  is  entirely  overshadowed  by  the  specu- 
lative. All  kinds  of  fanciful  names  are  given  to  the 
different  tones,  and  many  strange  ideas  associated  with 
them.  Although  our  modern  chromatic  scale  (all  but 
the  last  half-tone)  is  famiUar  to  them,  they  have  never 
risen  to  a  practical  use  of  it  even  to  this  day.  The  Chinese 
scale  is  now,  as  it  always  has  been,  one  of  five  notes  to 
the  octave,  that  is  to  say,  our  modem  major  scale  with 
the  fourth  and  seventh  omitted. 

From  a  technical  point  of  view,  the  instruments  of 
bamboo  attain  an  importance  above  all  other  Chinese 
instruments.  According  to  the  legend,  the  Pan's-pipes 
of  bamboo  regulated  the  tuning  of  all  other  instruments, 
and  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  pipe  giving  the  note  F,  the  imi- 
versal  tonic,  is  the  origin  of  all  measures  also.  For  this" 
pipe,  which  in  China  is  called  the  "musical  foot,"  is  at 


MUSIC  OF  THE   CHINESE 


63 


the  same  time  a  standard  measure,  holding  exactly 
twelve  hundred  millet  seeds,  and  long  enough  for  one 
himdred  millet  seeds  to  stand  end  on  end  within  it. 

In  concluding  this  consideration  of  the  music  of  the 
Chinese,  I  would  draw  attention  to  the  unceasing  repetition 
which  constitutes  a  prominent  feature  in  all  barbarous  or 
semi-barbarous  music.  In  the  "  Hymn  of  the  Ancestors  " 
this  endless  play  on  three  or  four  notes  is  very  marked. 
I  Verse 


«> >5— l-lS" 


a   r^ a. 


-Jf- <s> ^-\-^ — ^ \— — ^ — e>-  ^^\G  -^^— 

_|^^ -^ P ^- 1 

^-^4^ 


I 


# 


-^ i9 


In  other  songs  it  is  equally  apparent. 


i 


^-» 


5cp: 


PE^E^ 


-g* ^' 


irrJJN-^^^-r^^ 


a. (2. etc, 


E 


l^dT 


m 


-St 


-(^-^ 


I  ll  "I 


L^ \ -±y^ M-h J  1   1  J  — 1 

i 


I 


mH^i'-'iJ^riii 


S^'cJ 


t±L 


j-Jj  ^^-J.^J  \r:^^m 


etc. 


64  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

This  characteristic  is  met  with  in  the  music  of  the 
American  Indians,  also  in  American  street  songs,  in  fact 
in  all  music  of  a  primitive  nature,  just  as  our  school 
children  draw  caricatures  similar  to  those  made  by  great 
chiefs  and  medicine  men  in  the  heart  of  Africa,  and, 
similarly,  the  celebrated  "grafl5ti"  of  the  Roman  soldiers 
were  precisely  of  the  same  nature  as  the  beginnings  of 
Egyptian  art.  In  art,  the  child  is  always  a  barbarian 
more  or  less,  and  all  strong  emotion  acting  on  a  natur- 
ally weak  organism  or  a  primitive  nature  brings  the  same 
result,  namely,  that  of  stubborn  repetition  of  one  idea. 
An  example  of  this  is  Macbeth,  who,  in  the  very  height 
of  his  passion,  stops  to  juggle  with  the  word  "sleep,"  and 
in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  his  wife,  who  is  by  far  the  more 
dviUzed  of  the  two,  again  and  again  recurs  to  it,  even 
though  he  is  in  mortal  danger.  When  Lady  Macbeth  at 
last  breaks  down,  she  also  shows  the  same  trait  in  regard 
to  her  bloodstained  hands.  It  is  not  so  far  from  Scotland 
to  the  Polar  regions,  and  there  we  find  that  when  Kane 
captured  a  young  Eskimo  and  kept  him  on  his  ship,  the 
only  sign  of  life  the  prisoner  gave  wis  to  sing  over  and 
over  to  himself  the  following: 


Coming  back  again  to  civilization,  we  find  Tennyson's 
Elaine,  in  her  grief,  repeating  incessantly  the  words, 
"Must  I  then  die." 

The  music  of  the  Siamese,  Burmese,  Javanese,  and 
Japanese  has  much  in  common  with  that  of  the  Chinese, 
the  difference  between  the  fijrst  two  and  the  last  named 


MUSIC  OF  THE   CHINESE  65 

being  mainly  in  the  absence  of  the  king,  or  musical  stones, 
or  rather  the  substitution  of  sets  of  drums  in  place  of  it. 
For  instance,  the  Burmese  drum-organ,  as  it  is  called, 
consists  of  twenty-one  drums  of  various  sizes  hung  inside 
a  great  hoop.  Their  gong-organ  consists  of  fifteen  or 
more  gongs  of  different  sizes  strung  inside  a  hoop  in  the 
same  manner.  The  player  takes  his  place  in  the  middle 
of  the  hoop  and  strikes  the  drums  or  gongs  with  a  kind  of 
stick.  These  instruments  are  largely  used  in  processions, 
being  carried  by  two  men,  just  as  a  sedan  chair  is  borne; 
the  player,  in  order  to  strike  all  the  gongs  and  bells,  must 
often  walk  backwards,  or  strike  them  behind  his  back. 

In  Javanese  and  Burmese  music  these  sets  of  gongs 
and  drums  are  used  incessantly,  and  form  a  kind  of  high- 
pitched,  sustained  tone  beneath  which  the  music  is  played 
or  sung. 

In  Siamese  music  the  wind  instnmients  have  a  promi- 
nent place.  After  having  heard  the  Siamese  Royal 
Orchestra  a  number  of  times  in  London,  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  players  on  the  different  instruments 
improvise  their  parts,  the  only  rule  being  the  general 
character  of  the  melodies  to  be  played,  and  the  finishing 
together.  The  effect  of  the  music  was  that  of  a  contra- 
puntal nightmare,  hideous  to  a  degree  which  one  who  has 
not  heard  it  cannot  conceive.  Berlioz,  in  his  "Soirees 
de  I'orchestre,"  well  described  its  effect  when  he  said: 

"  After  the  first  sensation  of  horror  which  one  cannot  repress,  one 
feels  impelled  to  laugh,  and  this  hilarity  can  only  be  controlled  by 
leaving  the  hall.  So  long  as  these  impossible  sounds  continue,  the 
fact  of  their  being  gravely  produced,  and  in  all  sincerity  admired 
by  the  players,  makes  the  '  concert '  appear  inexpressibly  '  comic.' " 


66  CRITICAL   AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

The  Japanese  had  the  same  Buddhistic  disregard  for 
euphony,  but  they  have  adopted  European  ideas  in 
music  and  are  rapidly  becoming  occidentalized  from  a 
musical  point  of  view.  Their  principal  instruments  are 
the  koto  and  the  samisen.  The  former  is  similar  to  the 
Chinese  che,  and  is  a  kind  of  large  zither  with  thirteen 
strings,  each  having  a  movable  bridge  by  means  of 
which  the  pitch  of  the  string  may  be  raised  or  lowered. 
The  samisen  is  a  kind  of  small  banjo,  and  probably 
originated  in  the  Chinese  kin. 

From  Buddhism  to  sun  worship,  from  China  to  Peru 
and  Mexico,  is  a  marked  change,  but  we  find  strange 
resemblances  in  the  music  of  these  peoples,  seeming 
almost  to  corroborate  the  theory  that  the  southern 
American  races  may  be  traced  back  to  the  extreme  Orient. 
We  remember  that  in  the  Chinese  sacred  chants  — 
"oflEiciar'  music  as  one  may  call  it  —  all  the  notes  were 
of  exactly  the  same  length.  Now  Gardlaso  de  la  Vega 
(1550),  in  his  "  Commentarios  Reales,"  tells  us  that 
vmequal  time  was  unknown  in  Peru,  that  all  the  notes  in 
a  song  were  of  exactly  the  same  length.  He  further  tells 
us  that  in  his  time  the  voice  was  but  seldom  heard  in 
singing,  and  that  all  the  songs  were  played  on  the  flute, 
the  words  being  so  well  known  that  the  melody  of  the 
flute  immediately  suggested  them.  The  Peruvians  were 
essentially  a  pipe  race,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  instru- 
ments of  the  Mexicans  were  of  the  other  extreme,  all 
kinds  of  drums,  copper  gongs,  rattles,  musical  stones, 
cymbals,  bells,  etc.,  thus  completing  the  resemblance  to 
Chinese  art.    In  Prescott's  "Conquest  of  Peru"  we  may 


MUSIC  OF  THE  CHINESE  67 

read  of  the  beautiful  festival  of  Raymi,  or  adoration  of 
the  sun,  held  at  the  period  of  the  summer  solstice.  It 
describes  how  the  Inca  and  his  court,  followed  by  the 
whole  population  of  the  dty,  assembled  at  eariy  dawn 
in  the  great  square  of  Cuzco,  and  how,  at  the  appearance 
of  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  a  great  shout  would  go  up,  and 
thousands  of  wind  instrvunents  w^ould  break  forth  into  a 
majestic  song  of  adoration.  That  the  Peruvians  were  a 
gentler  nation  than  the  Mexicans  can  be  seen  from  their 
principal  instrimient,  the  pipe. 

While  it  has  been  strenuously  denied  that  on  such  occa- 
sions human  sacrifices  were  offered  in  Peru,  the  Mexicans, 
that  race  whose  principal  instruments  were  dnmis  and 
brass  trumpets,  not  only  held  such  sacrifices,  but,  strange 
to  say,  held  them  in  honour  of  a  kind  of  god  of  music, 
Tezcatlipoca.  This  festival  was  the  most  important  in 
Mexico,  and  took  place  at  the  temple  or  "teocalU,"  a 
gigantic,  pyramid-like  mass  of  stone,  rising  in  terraces  to 
a  height  of  eighty-six  feet  above  the  dty,  and  culminating 
in  a  small  svunmit  platform  upon  which  the  long  proces- 
sion of  priests  and  victims  could  be  seen  from  all  parts  of 
the  dty.  Once  a  year  the  sacrifice  was  given  additional 
importance,  for  then  the  most  beautiful  youth  in  Mexico 
was  chosen  to  represent  the  god  himself.  For  a  year 
before  the  sacrifice  he  was  dressed  as  Tezcathpoca,  in 
royal  robes  and  white  linen,  with  a  helmet-like  crown  of 
sea  shells  with  white  cocks'  plimies,  and  with  an  anklet 
hung  with  twenty  gold  bells  as  a  symbol  of  his  power, 
and  he  was  married  to  the  most  beautiful  maiden  in 
Mexico.    The  priests  taught  him  to  play  the  flute,  and 


68  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

whenever  the  people  heard  the  sound  of  it  they  fell  down 
and  worshipped  him. 

The  account  may  be  found  in  Bancroft's  great  work 
on  the  "Native  Races  of  the  Pacific,"  also  Sahagun's 
"Nueva  Espana  and  Bemal  Diaz,"  but  perhaps  the  most 
dramatic  description  is  that  by  Rowbotham: 

And  when  the  morning  of  the  day  of  sacrifice  arrived,  he  was 
taken  by  water  to  the  Pyramid  Temple  where  he  was  to  be  sacri- 
ficed, and  crowds  lined  the  banks  of  the  river  to  see  him  in  the 
barge,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  his  beautiful  companions.  When 
the  barge  touched  the  shore,  he  was  taken  away  from  those  compan- 
ions of  his  forever,  and  was  delivered  over  to  a  band  of  priests,  ex- 
changing the  company  of  beautiful  women  for  men  clothed  in  black 
mantles,  with  long  hair  matted  with  blood  —  their  ears  also  were 
mangled.  These  conducted  him  to  the  steps  of  the  pyramid,  and  he 
was  driven  up  amidst  a  crowd  of  priests,  with  drums  beating  and 
trimapets  blowing.  As  he  went  up  he  broke  an  earthen  flute  on 
every  step  to  show  that  his  love,  and  his  delights  were  over.  And 
when  he  reached  the  top,  he  was  sacrificed  on  an  altar  of  jasper,  and 
the  signal  that  the  sacrifice  was  completed  was  given  to  the  multi- 
tudes below  by  the  rolling  of  the  great  sacrificial  drum.* 

*  This  dnim  was  made  of  serpents'  skins,  and  the  soimd  of  it  was 
so  loud  that  it  could  be  heard  eight  miles  away. 


VI 

THE  MUSIC  OF  GREECE 

The  first  name  of  significance  in  Greek  music  is  that 
of  Homer.  The  hexameters  of  "The  Ihad"  and  "The 
Odyssey"  were  quite  probably  chanted,  but  the  four- 
stringed  lyre  which  we  associate  with  the  ancient  Greek 
singers  was  only  used  for  a  few  preluding  notes  —  possibly 
'  to  pitch  the  voice  of  the  bard  —  and  not  during  the  chant 
itself.  For  whatever  melody  this  chant  possessed,  it 
depended  entirely  upon  the  raising  and  lowering  of  the 
voice  according  to  the  accent  of  the  words  and  the  dra- 
matic feeUng  of  the  narrative.  For  its  rhythm  it  depended 
upon  that  of  the  hexameter,  which  consists  of  a  line  of 
six  dactyls  and  spondees,  the  hne  always  ending  with  a 
spondee.      Really    the  line    should   end  with  a  dactyl 

(—  ^-^  ^-')  and  a  spondee  ( ).      If  a  line  ends  with 

two  spondees  it  is  a  spondaic  hexameter. 

From  this  it  would  seen>  that  while  the  pitch  of  the 
chant  would  be  very  difficult  to  gauge,  owing  to  the  di- 
versity of  opinion  as  to  how  to  measure  in  actual  soimds 
the  effect  of  emotions  upon  the  himian  voice,  at  least  the 
rhythm  of  the  chants  would  be  well  defined,  owing  to 
the  hexameter  in  which  the  latter  were  written.  Here 
again,  however,  we  are  cast  adrift  by  theory,  for  in  prac- 
tice nothing  could  be  more  misleading  than  such  a  deduc- 
tion.   For  instance,  the  following  lines  from  Longfellow's 

69 


70  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

"Evangeline"  are  both  in  this  metre,  although  the  rhythm 
of  one  differs  greatly  from  that  of  the  other. 

Wearing  her  Norman  cap,  and  her  kirtle  of  blue,  and  the  earrings 
and 

Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north  were  the  bams 
and  the  farm-yard. 

Now  if  we  think  that  these  lines  can  be  sung  to  the  same 
musical  rhythm  we  are  very  far  from  the  truth,  although 
both  are  hexameters,  namely. 


dactyls,  ending  with  spondee. 

Thus  we  see  that  metre  in  verse  and  rhythm  in  music 
are  two  different  things,  although  of  course  they  both 
had  the  same  origin. 

After  all  has  been  said,  it  is  perhaps  best  to  admit  that, 
so  far  as  Greek  music  is  concerned,  its  better  part  certainly 
lay  in  poetry.  In  ancient  times  all  poetry  was  sung  or 
chanted;  it  was  what  I  have  called  impassioned  speech. 
The  declamation  of  "The  lUad"  and  "The  Odyssey" 
constituted  what  was  really  the  "vocal"  music  of  the 
poems.  With  the  Greeks  the  word  "music"  (mousike) 
included  all  the  aesthetic  culture  that  formed  part  of  the 
education  of  youth;  in  the  same  general  way  a  poet  was 
called  a  singer,  and  even  in  Roman  times  we  find  Terence, 
in  his  "Phormio,"  alluding  to  poets  as  musicians.  That 
.^schylus  and  Sophocles  were  not  musicians,  as  we 
understand  the  term,  is  very  evident  in  spite  of  the 
controversies  on  the  subject. 


THE  MUSIC  OF   GREECE  7 1 

Impassioned  speech,  then,  was  all  that  existed  of  vocal 
music,  and  as  such  was  in  every  way  merely  the  audible 
expression  of  poetry.  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  is  the 
explanation  of  the  statement  that  ^Eschylus  and  Sophocles 
wrote  what  has  been  termed  the  music  to  their  tragedies. 
What  they  really  did  was  to  teach  the  chorus  the  proper 
declamation  and  stage  action.  It  is  well  known  that  at 
the  Dionysian  Festival  it  was  to  the  poet  as  "chorus 
master"  that  the  prize  was  awarded,  so  entirely  were  the 
arts  identified  one  with  the  other.  That  declamation 
may  often  reach  the  power  of  music,  it  is  hardly  necessary 
to  say.  Among  modem  poets,  let  any  one,  for  instance, 
look  at  Tennyson's  "Passing  of  Arthur"  for  an  example 
of  this  kind  of  music;  the  mere  sound  of  the  words  com- 
pletes the  picture.  For  instance,  when  Arthur  is  dying 
and  gives  his  sword,  Excalibur,  to  Sir  Bedivere  with  the 
command  to  throw  it  into  the  mere,  the  latter  twice 
fails  to  do  so,  and  returns  to  Arthur  telling  him  that  all 
he  saw  was 

"  The  water  lapping  on  the  crag 
And  the  long  ripple  washing  in  the  reeds. " 

But  when  at  last  he  throws  it',  the  magic  sword 

"  Made  lightnings  in  the  splendour  of  the  moon 
And  flashing  round  and  round,  and  whirl'd  in  an  arch 
Shot  like  a  streamer  of  the  northern  mom. 
So  flashed  and  fell  the  brand  Excalibur. " 

Again,  when  Sir  Bedivere,  carrying  the  dying  king, 
stumbles  up  over  the  icy  rocks  to  the  shore,  his  armour 
clashing  and  clanking,  the  verse  uses  all  the  clangour 
of  cr  —  ck,  the  slipping  s's  too,  and  the  vowel  a  is  used  in 


72  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

all  its  changes;  when  the  shore  is  finally  reached,  the  verse 

suddenly  turns  into  smoothness,  the  long  o's  giving  the 

same  feeUng  of  breadth  and  calm  that  modem  music 

would  attempt  if  it  treated  the  same  subject. 

Here  are  the  hnes: 

Dry  clash'd  his  harness  in  the  icy  caves 

And  barren  chasms,  and  all  to  left  and  right 

The  bare,  black  cliff  clang'd  round  him  as  he  based 

His  feet  on  juts  of  slippery  crag  that  rang 

Sharp-smitten  with  the  dint  of  armed  heels. 

And  on  a  sudden,  lo !  the  level  lake 

And  the  long  glories  of  the  winter  moon. 

When  we  think  of  the  earlier  Greek  plays,  we  must 
imagine  the  music  of  the  words  themselves,  the  cadenced 
voices  of  the  protagonist  or  solitary  performer,  and  the 
chorus,  the  latter  keeping  up  a  rhythmic  motion  with  the 
words.  This,  I  am  convinced,  was  the  extent  of  Greek 
music,  so  far  as  that  which  was  ascribed  to  the  older  poets 
is  concerned. 

Instrumental  music  was  another  thing,  and  although 
we  possess  no  authentic  examples  of  it,  we  know  what 
its  scales  consisted  of  and  what  instrimients  were  in  use. 
It  would  be  interesting  to.pass  in  review  the  tragedies  of 
iEschylus  and  Sophocles,  the  odes  of  Sappho  and  Pindar, 
those  of  the  latter  having  a  novel  periodicity  of  form 
which  gives  force  to  the  suggestion  that  these  choric 
dances  were  the  forerunners  of  our  modem  instrumental 
forms. 

Such  matters,  however,  take  us  from  our  actual  sub- 
ject, and  we  will  therefore  turn  to  Pythagoras,  at  Cro- 
tona,  in  Italy  (about  500  B.  C.),  whom  we  find  already 


THE  MUSIC  OF   GREECE  73 

laying  down  the  rules  forming  a  mathematical  and  scien- 
tific basis  for  the  Greek  musical  scale. 

More  than  three  centuries  had  passed  since  Homer  had 
chanted  his  "Iliad"  and  "Odyssey,"  and  in  the  course  of 
the  succeeding  fifty  years  some  of  the  master  spirits  of 
the  world  were  to  appear.  When  we  think  of  Pythagoras, 
Gautama,  Buddha,  Confucius,  yEschylus,  Sophocles,  Sap- 
pho, Pindar,  Phidias,  and  Herodotus  as  contemporaries  — 
and  this  list  might  be  vastly  extended  —  it  seems  as  if 
some  strange  wave  of  ideality  had  poured  over  mankind. 
In  Greece,  however,  Pythagoras's  theory  of  metempsy- 
chosis (doctrine  of  the  supposed  transmigration  of  the  soul 
from  one  body  to  another)  was  not  strong  enough  to  make 
permanent  headway,  and  his  scientific  theories  unhappily 
turned  music  from  its  natural  course  into  the  workshop 
of  science,  from  which  Aristoxenus  in  vain  attempted  to 
rescue  it. 

At  that  time  Homer's  hexameter  had  begun  to  experi- 
ence many  changes,  and  from  the  art  of  rhythm  developed 
that  of  rhyme  and  form.  The  old  lyre,  from  having 
four  strings,  was  developed  by  Terpander,  victor  in  the 
first  musical  contest  at  the  feast  of  Apollo  Carneius,  into 
an  instnmient  of  seven  strings,  to  which  Pythagoras* 

*  The  fundamental  doctrine  of  the  Pythagorean  philosophy  was 
that  the  essence  of  all  things  rests  upon  musical  relations,  that 
numbers  are  the  principle  of  all  that  exists,  and  that  the  world  sub- 
sists by  the  rhythmical  order  of  its  elements.  The  doctrine  of  the 
"  Harmony  of  the  spheres"  was  based  on  the  idea  that  the  celestial 
spheres  were  separated  from  each  other  by  intervals  corresponding 
with  the  relative  length  of  strings  arranged  so  as  to  produce  har- 
monious tones. 


74  CRITICAL  AND   fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

added  an  eighth,  Theophrastus  a  ninth,  and  so  on  until 
the  number  of  eighteen  was  reached. 

Flute  and  lyre  playing  had  attained  a  high  state  of 
excellence,  for  we  hear  that  Lasus,  the  teacher  of  the 
poet  Pindar  (himself  the  son  of  a  Theban  flute  player), 
introduced  into  lyre  playing  the  runs  and  light  passages 
which,  until  that  time,  it  had  been  thought  possible  to 
produce  only  on  the  flute. 

The  dance  also  had  undergone  a  wonderful  development 
rhythmically;  for  even  in  Homer's  time  we  read  in  "The 
Odyssey"  of  the  court  of  Alcinoiis  at  Phooea,  how  two 
princes  danced  before  Ulysses  and  played  with  a  scarlet 
ball,  one  throwing  it  high  in  the  air,  the  other  always 
catching  it  with  his  feet  off  the  ground;  and  then  changing, 
they  flung  the  ball  from  one  to  the  other  with  such  rapidity 
that  it  made  the  onlookers  dizzy.  During  the  play, 
Demidocus  chanted  a  song,  and  accompanied  the  dance 
with  his  lyre,  the  players  never  losing  a  step.  As  Aristi- 
des  (died  468  B.  C),  speaking  of  Greek  music  many 
centuries  later  said:  "Metre  is  not  a  thing  which  concerns 
the  ear  alone,  for  in  the  dance  it  is  to  be  seen."  Even  a 
statue  was  said  to  have  silent  rhythm,  and  pictures  were 
spoken  of  as  being  musical  or  unmusical. 

Already  in  Homer's  time,  the  Cretans  had  six  varieties 
of  4  time  to  which  they  danced: 

i^l      i-iii     i^a     iiL^ 


THE  MUSIC  OF  GREECE  75 

The  first  was  known  as  the  Cretic  foot,  being  in  a  way  the 
model  or  type  from  which  the  others  were  made;  but  the 
others  were  called  paeons.  The  "Hymn  to  Apollo"  was 
called  a  paeon  or  paean,  for  the  singers  danced  in  Cretic 
rhythms  as  they  chanted  it. 

There  were  many  other  dances  in  Greece,  each  having 
its  characteristic  rhythm.     For  instance,  the  Molossian 

dance  consisted  of  three  long  steps, (1);  that  of  the 

Laconians  was  the  dactyl,  — -^(J),  which  was  some- 
times reversed  --  —  —  (|).  In  the  latter  form  it  was  also  the 
chief  dance  of  the  Locrians,  the  step  being  called  anapaest. 

From  Ionia  came  the  two  long  and  two  short  steps, ^  •^, 

(I  r    r    rj  ),  or  ^-- (I  S  C  r    r),  which  were  caUed 

Ionic  feet.     The  Doric  steps  consisted  primarily  of  a 

trochee   and  a   spondee,  —  ^ or   3    time.    These 

values,  however,  were  arranged  in  three  other  different 

orders,    namely,    w | -^  —  1 •-'I     and 

were  called  the  first,  second,  third,  or  fourth  epitrite,  ac- 
cording to  the  positions  of  the  short  step.  The  second 
epitrite  was  considered  the  most  distinctly  Doric. 

The  advent  of  the  Dionysian*  festivals  in  Greece 
threatened  to  destroy  art,  for  those  wild  Bacchic  dances, 
which  are  to  be  traced  back  to  that  frenzied  worship  of 
Bel  and  Astarte  in  Babylon,  wild  dances  amenable  only  to 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  seemed  to  carry  everything 
before  them.  Instead  of  that,  however,  the  hymns  to 
Bacchus,  who  was  called  in  Phoenicia  the  flute  god,  from 
which  the  characteristics  of  his  worship  are  indicated, 

*  Dionysus,  the  same  as  the  Roman  Bacchus. 


76  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

were  the  germs  from  which  tragedy  and  comedy  developed, 
and  the  mad  bacchanalian  dances  were  tamed  into  dithy- 
rambs. For  the  Corybantes,  priests  of  the  goddess 
Cybele,  brought  from  Phrygia,  in  Asia  Minor,  the  darker 
form  of  this  worship;  they  mourned  for  the  death  of 
Bacchus,  who  was  supposed  to  die  in  winter  and  to  come 
to  life  again  in  the  spring.  When  these  mournful  hymns 
were  sung,  a  goat  was  sacrificed  on  the  altar;  thus  the 
origin  of  the  word  "tragedy"  or  "goat  song"  (tragos, 
goat,  and  odos,  singer).  As  the  rite  developed,  the  leader 
of  the  chorus  would  chant  the  praises  of  Dionysus,  and 
sing  of  his  adventures,  to  which  the  chorus  would  make 
response.  In  time  it  became  the  custom  for  the  leader,  or 
coryphaeus,  to  be  answered  by  one  single  member  of  the 
chorus,  the  latter  being  thus  used  merely  for  the  chanting 
of  commentaries  on  the  narrative.  The  answerer  was 
called  "hypocrite,"  afterward  the  term  for  actor. 

This  was  the  material  from  which  ^schylus  created 
the  first  tragedy,  as  we  understand  the  term.  Sophocles 
(495-406  B.  C.)  followed,  increasing  the  number  of  actors, 
as  did  also  Euripides  (480-406  B.  C). 

Comedy  {komos,  revel,  and  odos,  singer)  arose  from  the 
spring  and  summer  worship  of  Bacchus,  when  everything 
was  a  jest  and  Nature  smiled  again. 

The  dithyramb  {dithyrambos  or  Bacchic  step,  I  —  ^  ^  —  I  ) 
brought  a  new  step  to  the  dance  and  therefore  a  new 
element  into  poetry,  for  all  dances  were  choric,  that  is  to 
say  they  were  sung  as  well  as  danced. 

Arion  was  the  first  to  attempt  to  bring  the  dithyramb  into 
poetry,  by  teaching  the  dancers  to  use  a  slower  movement 


THE  MUSIC  OF  GREECE  77 

and  to  observe  greater  regularity  in  their  various  steps. 
The  Lydian  flute,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  the  instrument 
which  accompanied  the  dithyramb,  associated  with  all 
kinds  of  harsh,  clashing  instruments,  such  as  cymbals, 
tambourines,  castanets.  These  Arion  tried  to  replace  by 
the  more  dignified  Grecian  lyre;  but  it  was  long  before 
this  mad  dance  sobered  down  to  regular  rhythm  and 
form.  From  Corinth,  where  Arion  first  laboured,  we  pass 
to  Sicyon,  where  the  taming  of  the  dithyramb  into  an 
art  form  was  accomplished  by  Praxilla,  a  poetess  who 
added  a  new  charm  to  the  lilt  of  this  Bacchic  metre, 
namely,  rhyme. 

And  this  newly  acquired  poetic  wealth  was  in  keeping 
with  the  increasing  luxury  and  magnificence  of  the  cities, 
for  we  read  in  Athenaeus  and  Diodorus  that  Agrigentum 
sent  to  the  Olympic  games  three  himdred  chariots, 
drawn  by  white  horses.  The  citizens  wore  garments  of 
cloth  of  gold,  and  even  their  household  ornaments  were  of 
gold  and  silver;  in  their  houses  they  had  wine  cellars 
which  contained  three  hundred  vats,  each  holding  a  hun- 
dred hogsheads  of  wine.  In  Sybaris  this  luxury  reached 
its  height,  for  the  Sybarites  would  not  allow  any  trade 
which  caused  a  disagreeable  sound,  such  as  that  of  the 
blacksmith,  carpenter,  or  mason,  to  be  carried  on  in  their 
city  limits.  They  dressed  in  garments  of  deep  purple, 
tied  their  hair  in  gold  threads,  and  the  city  was  famed  for 
its  incessant  banqueting  and  merrymaking.  It  was  such 
luxury  as  this  that  Pindar  found  at  the  court  of  Hiero, 
at  Syracuse,  whither  ^Eschylus  had  retired  after  his 
defeat  by  Sophocles  at  the  Dionysian  Festival  at  Athens. 


78  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

The  worship  of  Bacchus  being  at  its  height  at  that  time,  it 
may  be  imagined  that  wine  formed  the  principal  element  of 
their  feasts.  And  even  as  the  dithyramb  had  been  pressed 
into  the  service  of  poetry,  so  was  drinking  made  rhythmic 
by  music.  For  even  the  wine  was  mixed  with  water 
according  to  musical  ratios;  for  instance,  the  paeonic  or  3 

to2,»-'w>-^  — =r  J  J  J  f;  the  iambic  or  2  to  I,—--- =  i'*  J; 

dactyUc  or  2  to  2,  — --^  ^  =  |*  •  J  J.    The  master  of  the 

feast  decided  the  ratio,  and  a  flute  girl  played  a  prescribed 
melody  while  the  toast  to  good  fortune,  which  commenced 
every  banquet,  was  being  drunk.  By  the  time  the  last 
note  had  sounded,  the  great  cup  should  have  gone  round 
the  table  and  been  returned  to  the  master.  And  then 
they  had  the  game  of  the  cottabos,  which  consisted  of 
throwing  the  contents  of  a  wine  cup  high  in  the  air  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  wine  would  fall  in  a  solid  mass 
into  a  metal  basin.  The  winner  was  the  one  who  produced 
the  clearest  musical  sound  from  the  basin. 

We  see  from  all  this  that  music  was  considered  rather 
a  beautiful  plaything  or  a  mere  colour.  By  itself  it  was 
considered  effeminate;  therefore  the  early  Greeks  always 
had  the  flute  player  accompanied  by  a  singer,  and  the 
voice  was  always  used  with  the  lyre  to  prevent  the  latter 
appeaUng  directly  to  the  senses.  The  dance  was  corrected 
in  the  same  manner;  for  when  we  speak  of  Greek  dances, 
we  always  mean  choric  dances.  Perhaps  the  nearest 
approach  to  the  effect  of  what  we  call  music  was  made 
by  ^schylus,  in  the  last  scene  of  his  "Persians,"  when 
Xerxes  and  the  chorus  end  the  play  with  one  continued 


THE  MUSIC  OF   GREECE  79 

wail  of  sorrow.  In  this  instance  the  words  take  second 
place,  and  the  actual  sound  is  depended  upon  for  the 
dramatic  effect. 

The  rise  and  fall  of  actual  instrumental  music  in  Greece 
may  be  placed  between  500  and  400  B.  C.  After  the 
close  of  the  Peloponnesian  War  (404  B.  C),  when  Sparta 
supplanted  Athens  as  the  leader  of  Greece,  art  declined 
rapidly,  and  at  the  time  of  Philip  of  Macedon  (328  B.  C.) 
may  be  said  to  have  been  practically  extinct.  Then, 
in  place  of  the  dead  ashes  of  art,  the  cold  fire  of  science 
arose;  for  we  have  such  men  as  Euclid  (300  B.  C.)  and 
his  school  applying  mathematics  to  musical  sounds,  and 
a  system  of  cold  calculation  to  an  art  that  had  needed 
all  the  warmth  of  emotional  enthusiasm  to  keep  it  alive. 
Thus  music  became  a  science.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
little  weeds  of  folk  song  which  managed  with  difl&culty 
to  survive  at  the  foot  of  this  arid  dust  heap,  and  which 
were  destined  to  be  transformed  and  finally  to  bloom 
into  such  lovely  flowers  in  our  times,  we  might  yet 
have  been  using  the  art  to  illustrate  mathematical 
calculations. 

The  teaching  of  Pythagoras  was  the  first  step  in  this 
classification  of  sounds;  and  he  went  further  than  this, 
for  he  also  classified  the  emotions  affected  by  music.  It 
was  therefore  a  natural  consequence  that  in  his  teaching  he 
should  forbid  music  of  an  emotional  character  as  injurious. 
When  he  came  to  Crotona,  it  was  to  a  city  that  vied 
with  Agrigentum,  Sybaris,  and  Tarentum  in  luxury;  its 
chief  magistrate  wore  purple  garments,  a  golden  crown 
upon  his  head,  and  white  shoes  on  his  feet.    It  was  said 


8o  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

of  Pythagoras  that  he  had  studied  twelve  years  with  the 
Magi  in  the  temples  of  Balbylon;  had  hved  among  the 
Dmids  of  Gaul  and  the  Indian  Brahmins;  had  gone  among 
the  priests  of  Egypt  and  witnessed  their  most  secret 
temple  rites.  So  free  from  care  or  passion  was  Ms  face 
that  he  was  thought  by  the  people  to  be  Apollo;  he  was  of 
majestic  presence,  and  the  most  beautiful  man  they  had 
ever  seen.  So  the  people  accepted  him  as  a  superior 
being,  and  his  influence  became  supreme  over  science  and 
art,  as  well  as  manners. 

He  gave  the  Greeks  their  first  scientific  analysis  of  soimd. 
The  legend  runs  that,  passing  a  blacksmith's  shop  and 
hearing  the  different  sounds  of  the  hammering,  he  con- 
ceived'the  idea  that  sounds  could  be  measured  by  some 
such  means  as  weight  is  measured  by  scales,  or  distance 
by  the  foot  rule.  By  weighing  the  different  hammers, 
so  the  story  goes,  he  obtained  the  knowledge  of  harmom'cs 
or  overtones,  namely,  the  fimdamental,  octave,  fifth, 
third,  etc.  This  legend,  which  is  stated  seriously  in  many 
histories  of  music,  is  absurd,  for,  as  we  know,  the  ham- 
mers would  not  have  vibrated.  The  aYivils  would  have 
given  the  sound,  but  in  order  to  produce  the  octave, 
fifth,  etc.,  they  would  have  had  to  be  of  enormous  pro- 
portions. On  the  other  hand,  the  monochord,  with  which 
students  in  physics  are  familiar,  was  his  invention;  and  the 
first  mathematical  demonstrations  of  the  effect  on  musical 
pitch  of  length  of  cord  and  tension,  as  well  as  the  length 
of  pipes  and  force  of  breath,  were  his. 

These  mathematical  divisions  of  the  monochord,  how- 
ever, eventually  did  more  to  stifle  music  for  a  full  thousand 


THE   MUSIC  OF   GREECE  8l 

years  than  can  easily  be  imagined.  This  division  of  the 
string  made  what  we  call  harmony  impossible;  for  by  it 
the  major  third  became  a  larger  interval  than  our  modem 
one,  and  the  minor  third  smaller.  Thus  thirds  did  not 
sound  well  together,  in  fact  were  dissonances,  the  only 
intervals  which  did  harmonize  being  the  fourth,  fifth, 
and  octave.  This  system  of  mathematically  dividing 
tones  into  equal  parts  held  good  up  to  the  middle  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  when  Zarlino,  who  died  in  1590,  invented 
the  system  in  use  at  the  present  time,  called  the  tempered 
scale,  which,  however,  did  not  come  into  general  use 
until  one  himdred  years  later. 

Aristoxenus,  a  pupil  of  Aristotle,  who  Uved  more  than 
a  century  after  Pythagoras,  rejected  the  monochord  as  a 
means  for  gauging  musical  sounds,  believing  that  the  ear, 
not  mathematical  calculation,  should  be  the  judge  as  to 
which  interval  sounds  "perfect."  But  he  was  unable  to 
formulate  a  system  that  would  bring  the  third  (and  natur- 
ally its  inversion  the  sixth)  among  the  harmonizing  in- 
tervals or  consonants.  Didymus  (about  30  B.  C.)  first 
discovered  that  two  different-sized  whole  tones  were  neces- 
sary in  order  to  make  the  third  consonant;  and  Ptolemy 
(120  A.  D.)  improved  on  this  system  somewhat.  But 
the  new  theory  remained  without  any  practical  effect 
until  nearly  the  seventeenth  century,  when  the  long 
respected  theory  of  the  perfection  of  mathematical  cal- 
culation on  the  basis  of  natural  phenomena  was  over- 
thrown in  favour  of  actual  effect.  If  Aristoxenus  had 
had  followers  able  to  combat  the  crushing  influence  of 
Euclid  and  his  school,  music  might  have  grown  up  with 


82  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

the  other  arts.  As  it  is,  music  is  still  in  its  infancy,  and 
has  hardly  left  its  experimental  stage. 

Thus  Pythagoras  brought  order  into  the  music  as  well 
as  into  the  Uves  of  people.  But  whereas  it  ennobled  the 
people,  it  killed  the  music,  the  one  ^vent  in  Ufe  through 
which  unbounded  utterance  is  possible;  its  essence  is  so 
interwoven  with  spirituahty  that  to  tear  it  away  and 
fetter  it  with  human  mathematics  is  to  lower  it  to  the  level 
of  mere  utihtarianism.  And  so  it  was  with  Greek  music, 
which  was  held  subordinate  to  metre,  to  poetry,  to  acting, 
and  finally  became  a  term  of  contempt.  Pythagoras 
wished  to  banish  the  flute,  as  Plato  also  did  later,  and  the 
name  of  flute  player  was  used  as  a  reproach.  I  fancy  this 
was  because  the  flute,  on  account  of  its  construction, 
could  ignore  the  mathematical  divisions  prescribed  for 
the  stringed  instruments,  and  therefore  could  indulge  in 
purely  emotional  music.  Besides,  the  flute  was  the 
chosen  instrument  of  the  orgiastic  Bacchic  cult,  and  its 
associations  were  those  of  unbridled  Hcense.  To  be  sure, 
the  voice  was  held  by  no  mathematical  restrictions  as  to 
pitch;  but  its  music  was  held  in  check  by  the  words,  and 
its  metre  by  dancing  feet. 

Having  measured  the  musical  intervals,  there  still 
remained  the  task  of  classifying  the  different  manners  of 
singing  which  existed  in  Greece,  and  using  all  their  differ- 
ent notes  to  form  a  general  system.  For  just  as  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  Greece  there  existed  different  dances,  the 
steps  of  which  were  known  as  Lydian,  Ionian,  Locrian, 
and  Dorian  feet,  and  so  on,  so  the  melodies  to  which 
they  were  danced  were  known  as  being  in  the  Lydian, 


THE  MUSIC  OF   GREECE  83 

Ionian,  Locrian,  or  Dorian  scale  or  mode.  In  speaking 
of  Hindu  music,  I  explained  that  what  we  call  a  mode 
consists  of  a  scale,  and  that  one  mode  differs  from  another 
only  in  the  position  of  the  semitones  in  this  scale.  Now 
in  ancient  Greece  there  were  in  use  over  fifteen  different 
modes,  each  one  common  to  the  part  of  the  country  in 
which  it  originated.  At  the  time  of  Pythagoras  there 
were  seven  in  general  use:  the  Dorian,  Lydian,  iEolian 
or  Locrian,  Hypo-  (or  low)  Lydian,  Phrygian,  Hypo-  (or 
low)  Phrygian,  and  Mixolydian  or  mixed  Lydian.  The 
invention  of  the  latter  is  attributed  to  Sappho  by  Plu- 
tarch, quoting  Aristoxenus. 

These  modes  were  all  invested  with  individual  charac- 
ters by  the  Greeks,  just  as  in  the  present  day  we  say  our 
major  mode  is  happy,  the  minor  sad.  {  The  Dorian  mode 
was  considered  the  greatest,  and,  according  to  Plato,  the 
only  one  worthy  of  men.  It  was  supposed  to  have  a 
dignified,  martial  character.  The  Lydian,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  all  softness,  and  love  songs  were  written  in  it. 
The  Phrygian  was  of  a  violent,  ecstatic  nature,  and  was 
considered  as  being  especially  appropriate  for  dithyrambs, 
the  metre  for  the  wild  bacchanalian  dances.\  For  instance, 
Aristotie  tells  how  Philoxenus  attempted  to  set  dithy- 
rambic  verse  to  the  Dorian  mode,  and,  failing,  had  to 
return  to  the  Phrygian.  The  Mixolydian,  which  was 
Sappho's  mode,  was  the  mode  for  sentiment  and  pas- 
sion. The  Dorian,  Phrygian,  and  Lydian  were  the  oldest 
modes. 

/"lEach  mode  or  scale  was  composed  of  two  sets  of  four 
notes,   called    tetrachords,    probably   derived   from   the 


84 


CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 


ancient  form  of  the  lyre,  which  in  Homer's  time  is  known 
to  have  had  four  strings. 

Leaving  the  matter  of  actual  pitch  out  of  the  question 
(for  these  modes  might  be  pitched  high  or  low,  just  as 
our  major  or  minor  scale  may  be  pitched  in  different 
keys),  these  three  modes  were  constructed  as  follows: 


Greek — Dorian 


EFGA     BCDE,  that  is,  semi- 
tone, tone,  tone. 


Asiatic 


Phrygian    DEFG    ABCD, 

or  F#GSAB   C#D#EFtt,  that 

is,  tone,  semitone,  tone. 

Lydian        C  D  E  F    G  A  B^,  that  is,  tone,  ) 
tone,  semitone.  y^ 


Thus  we  see  that  a  tetrachord  commencing  with  a  half- 
tone and  followed  by  two  whole  tones  was  called  a  Dorian 
tetrachord;  one  commencing  with  a  tone,  followed  by 
a  half-tone,  and  again  a  tone,  constituted  a  Phrygian  tetra- 
chord. The  other  modes  were  as  follows:  In  the  ^Eolian 
or  Locrian  the  semitones  occur  between  the  second  and 
third  notes,  and  the  fifth  and  sixth: 


Theraclides  Ponticus  identifies  the  Hypodorian  with  the 
^olian,  but  says  that  the  name  "hypo-"  merely  denoted  a 
likeness  to  Doric,  not  to  pitch.  Aristoxenus  denies  the 
identity,  and  says  that  the  Hypodorian  was  a  semitone 
below  the  Dorian  or  Hypolydian.    In  the  Hypophrygian, 


THE  MUSIC  OF  GREECE  8$ 

the  semitones  occur  between  the  third  and  fourth,  and 
sixth  and  seventh  degrees:     ^~y-'  t^'l^g^y^'^"^ 


In  the  Hypolydian,  the  semitones  occur  between  the  fourth 
and  fifth,  and  seventh  and  eighth: 


^S 


The  Dorian  (E),  Phrygian  (commencing  on  Fft  with  the 
fourth  sharped),  and  the  Lydian  (Al?  major  scale)  modes 
we  have  already  explained.  In  the  Mixolydian,  the  semi- 
tones occur  between  the  first  and  second,  and  fourth  and 


fifth  degrees: 


f 


-sj    Pg- 


a>      a 


According  to  the  best  evidence  (in  the  works  of  Ptolemy, 
"Harmonics,"  second  book,  and  Aristides),  these  were 
approximately  the  actual  pitch  of  the  modes  as  compared 
one  to  another. 

And  now  the  difficidty  was  to  weld  all  these  modes 
together  into  one  scale,  so  that  all  should  be  represented 
and  yet  not  be  complicated  by  what  we  should  call  acci- 
dentals. This  was  accomplished  in  the  following  manner, 
by  simple  mathematical  means: 

We  remember  that  the  Dorian,  which  was  the  most 
greatly  favoured  mode  in  Greece,  was  divided  into  two 
tetrachords  of  exactly  the  same  proportions,  namely, 
semitone,  tone,  tone.  By  taking  the  lowest  note  of  the 
Mixolydian,  B,  and  forming  a  Dorian  tetrachord  on  it, 
B  C  D  £  were  acquired.    Adding  to  this  another  Dorian 


86  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

tetrachord,  E  F  G  A  (commencing  on  the  last  note  of 
the  first),  and  repeating  the  same  series  of  tetrachords 
an  octave  higher,  we  have  in  all  four  Dorian  tetrachords, 
two  of  which  overlap  the  others.  The  two  middle  tetra- 
chords, constituting  the  original  Dorian  mode,  were  called 
disjunct,  the  two  outer  ones  which  overlap  the  middle  ones 
were  called  conjunct  or  synemmenon  tetrachords. 

If  we  consider  this  new  scale  from  octave  to  octave, 
commencing  with  the  lowest  note,  that  is  to  say  from  B 
to  B,  we  find  that  it  coincides  exactly  with  the  Mixo- 
lydian  mode;  therefore  this  was  called  the  Mixolydian 
octave.  The  octave  in  this  scale  from  the  second  note,  C 
to  C,  coincides  exactly  with  the  Lydian  mode,  and  was 
called  the  Lydian  octave;  from  the  third  note,  D,  up  to 
its  octave  gives  the  Phrygian;  from  the  fourth  note,  E, 
the  Dorian;  from  the  fifth,  F,  the  Hypolydian;  from  the 
sixth,  G,  the  H)^ophrygian;  and  from  the  seventh,  A, 
the  iEolian  or  Hypodorian  octave.  Add  one  note  to  the 
lower  end  of  this  imiversal  Greek  scale,  as  it  was  called, 
and  we  see  that  the  whole  tonal  system  was  included 
within  two  octaves.  To  each  of  the  notes  comprising 
it  was  given  a  name  partly  derived  from  its  position  in 
the  tetrachords,  and  partly  from  the  fingering  employed 
in  lyre  playing,  as  shown  in  the  diagram  on  page  87. 

The  fifteen  strings  of  the  kithara  were  tuned  according 
to  this  scale,  and  the  A,  recurring  three  times  in  it,  ac- 
quired something  of  the  importance  of  a  tonic  or  key 
note.  As  yet,  however,  this  scale  allowed  of  no  transpo- 
sition of  a  mode  to  another  pitch;  in  order  to  accompUsh 
this  the  second  tetrachord  was  used  as  the  first  of  another 


THE  MUSIC  OF   GREECE 


87 


similar  system.  Thus,  considering  the  second  tetrachord, 
E  F  G  A,  as  first  of  the  new  scale,  it  would  be  followed 
by  A  Bb  C  D,  and  the  two  disjunct  tetrachords  would 
be  formed.  Followed  by  the  two  upper  conjunct  tetra- 
chords, and  the  proslambandmenos  added,  our  system  on 
a  new  pitch  would  be  complete.  This  procedure  has 
come  down  almost  unchanged  to  our  times;  for  we  have 
but  two  modes,  major  and  minor,  which  are  used  on  every 
pitch,  constituting  various  keys.  These  Greek  modes 
are  the  basis  on  which  all  our  modem  ideas  of  tonality 
rest;  for  our  major  mode  is  simply  the  Greek  Lydian,  and 
our  minor  mode  the  ^Eolian. 


LIST  OF  NOTES  IN  THE  GREEK  SCALE 


iEoHan. 


Hypophrygian 

Hypolydian. 

Dorian. 

Phrygian. 

Lydian. 

Mixolydian. 


w 


-A.  Nete,  or  highest. 
G.  Pdranete,  next  highest,     g 
F.   Trite,  third.  | 

E.   Nete,  highest.  _ 

D.  Pdranete,  next  highest.    Z 
C.   Trite,  third.  .| 

B.  Paramese,  next  to  central  i£ 
tone. 
I—A.  Mese,  central  tone. 
I — G.   Lichanos,  index  finger. 
-F.  Parhypate,  next  to  lowest 
"E.  Eypate,  lowest. 
-D,  Lichanos,  index. 
-C.  Parhypate,  next  to  lowest. 
-B.  Eypate,  lowest. 
A.  Proslambandmenos  f     ad  dec 
tone. 


88  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

To  go  into  detailed  explanation  of  the  Greek  enharmonic 
and  chromatic  pitch  will  scarcely  be  worth  while,  and 
I  will  therefore  merely  add  that  the  instruments  were 
sometimes  tuned  dififerently,  either  to  relieve  the  inevitable 
monotony  of  this  purely  diatonic  scale  or  for  purposes  of 
modulation.  A  Dorian  tetrachord  is  composed  of  semi- 
tone, tone,  tone;  to  make  it  chromatic,  it  was  changed 


I 


as    follows:    ^s===^^^=ss=z^    the    lichanos,    or    index 


finger  string,  being  lowered  a  semitone. 

The  enharmonic  pitch  consisted  of  timing  the  lichanos 
down  still  further,  almost  a  quarter- tone  below  the  second 
string,  or  parhypate,  thus  making  the  tetrachord  nm 
quarter-tone,  quarter-tone,  two  tones.  Besides  this, 
even  in  the  diatonic,  the  Greeks  used  what  they  called 
soft  intervals;  for  example,  when  the  tetrachord,  instead 
of  proceeding  by  semitone,  tone,  tone  (which  system  was 
called  the  hard  diatonic),  was  timed  to  semitone,  three- 
quarter-tone,  and  tone  and  a  quarter.  The  chromatic 
pitch  also  had  several  forms,  necessitating  the  use  of  small 
fractional  tones  as  well  as  semitones. 

Our  knowledge  of  the  musical  notation  of  the  Greeks 
rests  entirely  on  the  authority  of  Al3^ius,  and  dates 
from  about  the  fourth  century  A.  D.  That  we  could 
not  be  absolutely  sure  of  the  readings  of  ancient  Greek 
melodies,  even  if  we  possessed  any,  is  evident  from  the  fact 
that  these  note  characters,  which  at  first  were  derived 
from  the  signs  of  the  zodiac,  and  later  from  the  letters  of 
the  alphabet,  indicate  only  the  relative  pitch  of  the 
sounds;  the  rhythm  is  left  entirely  to  the  metrical  value 


THE  MUSIC  OF  GREECE  89 

of  the  words  in  the  lines  to  be  sung.  Two  sets  of  signs 
were  used  for  musical  notation,  the  vocal  system  consist- 
ing of  writing  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  in  different  posi- 
tions, upside  down,  sideways,  etc. 

Of  the  instrumental  system  but  little  is  known,  and 
that  not  trustworthy. 


vn 

THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  ROMANS  — THE  EARLY 
CHURCH 

The  art  history  of  the  world  makes  it  clear  to  us  that 
when  the  art  of  a  country  turns  to  over-elaboration  of 
detail  and  mechanical  dexterity,  when  there  is  a  general 
tendency  toward  vi\idness  of  impression  rather  than 
poignancy  and  vitality  of  expression,  then  we  have  the 
invariable  sign  of  that  decadence  which  inevitably  drifts 
into  revolution  of  one  kind  or  another.  Lasus  (500  B.  C), 
who,  as  previously  mentioned,  was  a  great  flute  and  lyre 
player  as  well  as  poet,  betrays  this  tendency,  which 
reached  its  culmination  under  the  Romans.  Lasus  was 
more  of  a  virtuoso  than  a  poet;  he  introduced  into  Greece 
a  new  and  florid  style  of  lyre  and  harp  playing;  and  it  was 
he  who,  disliking  the  guttural  Dorian  pronunciation  of  the 
letter  S,  wrote  many  of  his  choric  poems  without  using 
this  letter  once  in  them.  Pindar,  his  pupil,  followed  in 
his  footsteps.  In  many  of  his  odes  we  find  intricate 
metrical  devices;  for  instance,  the  first  Une  of  most  of  the 
odes  is  so  arranged  metrically  that  the  same  order  of 
accents  is  maintained  whether  the  Une  be  read  backward 
or  forward,  the  short  and  long  syllables  falhng  into 
exactly  the  same  places  in  either  case.  The  line  "Hercu- 
les, the  patron  deity  of  Thebes,"  may  be  taken  as  an 

90 


THE   MUSIC  OF  THE  ROMANS  91 


example,  —^^^  —  ^  —  ^^^  —  .  Such  devices  occur 
all  through  his  poems.  We  find  in  them  also  that  mag- 
nificence of  diction  which  is  the  forerunner  of  "virtu- 
osity"; for  he  speaks  of  his  song  as  "a  temple  with 
pillars  of  gold,  gold  that  glitters  hke  blazing  fire  in  the 
night  time. " 

In  the  hands  of  Aristophanes  (450-380  B.  C),  the 
technique  of  poetry  continued  to  advance.  In  "The 
Frogs,"  "The  Wasps,"  and  "The  Birds"  are  to  be  found 
marvels  of  skill  in  onomatopoetic*  verse.  His  comedies 
called  for  many  more  actors  than  the  tragedies  had  re- 
quired, and  the  chorus  was  increased  from  fifteen  to  twenty- 
four.  Purple  skins  were  spread  across  the  stage,  and  the 
parabasis  (or  topical  song)  and  satire  vied  with  the  noble 
lines  of  ^schylus  and  Sophocles  for  favour  with  the 
public. 

Meanwhile,  as  might  have  been  expected,  instruimental 
music  became  more  and  more  independent,  and  musicians, 
especially  the  flute  players,  prospered;  for  we  read  in 
Suidas  that  they  were  much  more  proficient  and  sought 
after  than  the  lyre  and  kithara  players.  When  they 
played,  they  stood  in  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  centre 
of  the  audience.  Dressed  in  long,  feminine,  saffron- 
coloured  robes,  with  veiled  faces,  and  straps  round  their 
cheeks  to  support  the  muscles  of  the  mouth,  they  exhibited 
the  most  starthng  feats  of  technical  skill.  Even  women 
became  flute  players,  although  this  was  considered  dis- 
graceful.    The  Athenians  even  went  so  far  that  they 

*  Imitating  the  sound  of  the  thing  signified.  Poe's  "Raven" 
has  much  of  this  character. 


92  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

built  a  temple  to  the  flute  player  Lamia,  and  worshipped 
her  as  Venus.  The  prices  paid  to  these  flute  players 
surpassed  even  those  given  to  virtuosi  in  modern  times, 
sometimes  amounting  to  more  than  one  thousand  dollars 
a  day,  and  the  luxury  in  which  they  lived  became  pro- 
verbial. 

During  this  period,  Aristophanes  of  Alexandria  (350 
B.  C),  called  "the  grammarian,"  devised  a  means  for 
indicating  the  inflection  of  the  voice  in  speaking,  by  which 
the  cadences  which  orators  foimd  necessary  in  impassioned 
speech  could  be  classified,  at  least  to  some  extent.  When 
the  voice  was  to  fall,  a  downward  stroke  \  was  placed 
above  the  syllable;  when  the  voice  was  to  be  raised,  an 
upward  stroke  /  indicated  it;  and  when  the  voice  was 
to  rise  and  fall,  the  sign  was  A ,  which  has  become  our 
accent  in  music.  These  three  signs  are  found  in  the 
French  language,  in  the  accent  aigu,  or  high  accent,  as  in 
passe;  the  accent  grave,  or  low  accent,  as  in  sincere]  or 
circonflexe,  as  in  PMon.  The  use  of  dots*  for  pimc- 
tuation  is  also  ascribed  to  Aristophanes;  and  our  dots  in 
musical  notation,  as  well  as  the  use  of  commas  to  indi- 
cate breathings,  may  be  traced  to  this  system. 

As  I  have  said,  all  this  tended  toward  technical  skill 
and  analysis;  what  was  lacking  in  inventive  power  it  was 
sought  to  cover  by  wonderful  execution.  The  mania  for 
flute  playing,  for  instance,  seemed  to  spread  all  over  the 
world;  later  we  even  hear  that  the  king  of  Egypt,  Ptolemy 
Auletes  (80-51  B.  C),  Cleopatra's  father,  was  nicknamed 
"  the  flute  player. " 
*  c,  perfect  pause;  c-,  short;  c,  shortest;  breathings:  'hard; '  soft. 


THE  MUSIC   OF  THE  ROMANS  93 

In  Rome,  this  lack  of  poetic  \'itality  seemed  evident 
from  the  beginning;  for  while  Greece  was  represented  by 
the  tragedy  and  comedy,  the  Romans'  preference  was  for 
mere  pantomime,  a  species  of  farce  of  which  they  possessed 
three  kinds:  (i)  The  simple  pantomime  without  chorus, 
in  which  the  actors  made  the  plot  clear  to  the  audience 
by  means  of  gestures  and  dancing.  (2)  Another  which 
called  for  a  band  of  instnmiental  musicians  on  the  stage 
to  furnish  an  accompaniment  to  the  acting  of  the  panto- 
mimist.  (3)  The  chorus  pantomime,  in  which  the  chorus 
and  the  orchestra  were  placed  on  the  stage,  supplementing 
the  gestures  of  the  actors  by  singing  a  narrative  of  the 
plot  of  the  pantomime,  and  playing  on  their  instruments. 
The  latter  also  were  expressive  of  the  non-ideal  character 
of  the  pantomime,  as  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  the 
orchestra  was  composed  of  cymbals,  gongs,  castanets, 
foot  castanets,  rattles,  flutes,  bagpipes,  gigantic  lyres,  and 
a  kind  of  shell  or  crockery  cymbals,  which  were  clashed 
together. 

The  Roman  theatre  itself  was  not  a  place  connected 
with  the  worship  of  the  gods,  as  it  was  with  the  Greeks. 
The  altar  to  Dionysus  had  disappeared  from  the  centre 
of  the  orchestra,  and  the  chorus,  or  rather  the  band,  was 
placed  upon  the  stage  with  the  actors.  The  bagpipe 
now  appears  for  the  first  time  in  musical  history,  although 
there  is  some  question  as  to  whether  it  was  not  known  to 
the  Assyrians.  It  represents,  perhaps,  the  only  remnant  of 
Roman  music  that  has  survived,  for  the  modem  ItaUan 
peasants  probably  play  in  much  the  same  way  as  did 
their  forefathers.     The  Roman  pipes  were  bound  with 


94  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

brass,  and  had  about  the  same  power  of  tone  as  was 
obtained  from  the  trumpet. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  an  orchestra  thus  constituted 
would  be  better  adapted  for  making  a  great  noise  than 
for  music,  while  the  pantomime  itself  was  of  such  a  brutal 
nature  that  the  degradation  of  art  may  be  said  to  have 
been  complete.  As  the  decay  of  art  in  Egypt  culminated 
under  Ptolemy  Auletes,  so  in  Rome  it  culminated  in  the 
time  of  Caligula  (12-41  A.  D.),  and  Nero  (37-68  A.  D,). 

The  latter,  as  we  learn  from  Suetonius,  competed  for 
prizes  in  the  public  musical  contests,  and  was  never  with- 
out a  slave  at  his  elbow  to  warn  him  against  straining  his 
voice.  In  his  love  of  magnificence  he  resembled  a  Greek 
flute  player,  with  unbounded  means  to  gratify  it.  His 
palace,  the  "Golden  House,"  had  triple  porticos  a  mile 
in  length,  and  enclosed  a  lake  surroimded  by  buildings 
which  had  the  appearance  of  a  city.  Within  its  area 
were  com  fields,  vineyards,  pastures,  and  woods  contain- 
ing many  animals,  both  wild  and  tame.  In  other  parts 
it  was  entirely  overlaid  with  gold,  and  adorned  with  jewels 
and  mother-of-pearl.  The  porch  was  so  high  that  a  colossal 
statue  of  himself,  one  himdred  and  twenty  feet  in  height, 
stood  in  it.  The  supper  rooms  were  vaulted,  and  com- 
partments of  the  ceiling,  inlaid  with  ivory,  were  made  to 
revolve  and  scatter  flowers;  they  also  contained  pipes 
which  shed  perfumes  upon  the  guests. 

When  the  revolt  under  Vindex  broke  out  (68  A.  D.), 
a  new  instrument  had  just  been  brought  to  Rome.  Ter- 
tullian,  Suetonius,  and  Vitruvius  agree  in  calling  it  an 
organ.     This  instnunent,   which   was   the  invention   of 


THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  ROMANS  95 

Ctesibus  of  Alexandria,  consisted  of  a  set  of  pipes  through 
which  the  air  was  made  to  vibrate  by  means  of  a  kind  of 
water  pump  operated  by  iron  keys.  It  was  undoubtedly  \ 
the  direct  ancestor  of  our  modem  organ.  Nero  intended 
to  introduce  these  instruments  into  the  Roman  theatre. 
In  planning  for  his  expedition  against  Vindex,  his  first 
care  was  to  provide  carriages  for  his  musical  instruments; 
for  his  intention  was  to  sing  songs  of  triumph  after  having 
quelled  the  revolt.  He  pubUcly  vowed  that  if  his  power 
in  the  state  were  reestablished,  he  would  include  a  perform- 
ance upon  organs  as  well  as  upon  flutes  and  bagpipes,  in 
the  exhibitions  he  intended  to  institute  in  honour  of  his 
success. 

From  a  musical  point  of  view,  Suetonius's  biography  of 
Nero  is  interesting  chiefly  on  account  of  its  giving  us 
glimpses  of  the  Hfe  of  a  professional  musician  of  those 
days.  We  read,  together  with  many  other  details,  that  it  v 
was  the  custom  for  a  singer  to  lie  on  his  back,  with  a  sheet 
of  lead  upon  his  breast,  to  correct  unsteadiness  in  breath- 
ing, and  to  abstain  from  food  for  two  days  together  to 
clear  his  voice,  often  denying  himself  fruit  and  sweet 
pastry.  The  degraded  state  of  the  theatre  may  well  be 
imagined  from  the  fact  that  under  Nero  the  custom  of 
hiring  professional  applause  was  instituted.  After  his 
death,  which  is  so  dramatically  told  by  Suetonius,  music 
never  revived  in  Rome. 

In  the  meanwhile,  however,  a  new  kind  of  music  had 
begun;  in  the  catacombs  and  underground  vaults,  the  early 
Christians  were  chanting  their  first  hymns.  Like  all  that 
we  call  "new,"  this  music  had  its  roots  in  the  old.    The 


96  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

hymns  sung  by  the  Christians  were  mainly  Hebrew  temple 
songs,  strangely  changed  into  an  uncouth  imitation  of  the 
ancient  Greek  drama  or  worship  of  Dionysus;  for  example, 
Philo  of  Alexandria,  as  well  as  PUny  the  Younger,  speaks 
of  the  Christians  as  accompanying  their  songs  with  ges- 
tures, and  with  steps  forward  and  backward.  This  Greek 
influence  is  still  further  impUed  by  the  order  of  one  of 
the  earliest  of  the  Church  fathers,  Clement  of  Alexandria 
(about  300  A.  D.),  who  forbade  the  use  of  the  chromatic 
style  in  the  hymns,  as  tending  too  much  toward  paganism. 
Some  writers  even  go  so  far  as  to  identify  many  of  the 
Christian  myths  and  symbols  with  those  of  Greece.  For 
instance,  they  see,  in  the  story  of  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den, 
another  form  of  the  legend  of  Orpheus  taming  the  wild 
beasts  J  in  Jonah,  they  recognize  Arion  and  the  dolphin; 
and  the  symbol  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  carrying  home  the 
stray  lamb  on  his  shoulders,  is  considered  another  form 
of  the  familiar  Greek  figure  of  Hermes  carrying  the  goat. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  this  crude  beginning 
of  Christian  music  arose  from  a  vital  necessity,  and  was 
accompanied  by  an  indomitable  faith.  If  we  look  back, 
we  note  that  until  now  music  had  either  been  the  servant 
of  ignoble  masters,  looked  upon  as  a  mathematical  problem 
to  be  solved  scientifically,  or  used  according  to  methods 
prescribed  by  the  state.  It  had  been  dragged  down  to 
the  lowest  depths  of  sensuaUty  by  the  dance,  and  its 
divine  origin  forgotten  in  lilting  rhythms  and  soft,  lulling 
rhymes. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  mathematicians,  in  their  cold 
calculation,  reduced  music  to  the  utilitarianism  of  algebra, 


THE  EARLY  CHURCH  97 

and  even  \dewed  it  as  a  kind  of  medicine  for  the  nerves 
and  mind.  When  we  think  of  the  music  of  Pythagoras 
and  his  school,  we  seem  to  be  in  a  kind  of  laboratory  in 
which  all  the  tones  are  labelled  and  have  their  special 
directions  for  use.  For  the  legend  runs  that  he  composed 
melodies  in  the  diatonic,  chromatic,  and  enharmonic 
styles  as  antidotes  for  moods  such  as  anger,  fear,  sorrow, 
etc.,  and  invented  new  rhythms  which  he  used  to  steady 
and  strengthen  the  mind,  and  to  produce  simpUcity  of 
character  in  his  disciples.  He  recommended  that  every 
morning,  after  rising,  they  should  play  on  the  lyre  and  sing, 
in  order  to  clear  the  mind.  It  was  inevitable  that  this 
half  mathematical,  half  psychologically  medicinal  manner 
of  treating  music  would,  in  falling  into  the  hands  of 
EucUd  (300  B.  C.)  and  his  school,  degenerate  into  a  mere 
peg  on  which  to  hang  mathematical  theorems.  On  the 
other  hand,  when  we  think  of  Greek  dances,  we  seem  to 
pass  into  the  bright,  warm  sunshine.  We  see  graceful 
figures  holding  one  another  by  the  wrist,  dancing  in  a 
circle  around  some  altar  to  Dionysus,  and  singing  to  the 
strange  lilt  of  those  unequal  measures.  We  can  imagine 
the  scheme  of  colour  to  be  white  and  gold,  framed  by  the 
deep-blue  arch  of  the  sky,  the  amethyst  sea  flecked  with 
guttering  silver  foam,  and  the  dark,  sombre  rocks  of  the 
Cretan  coast  bringing  a  suggestion  of  fate  into  this  danc- 
ing, soulless  vision.  Turning  now  to  Rome,  we  see  that 
this  same  music  has  fallen  to  a  wretched  slave's  estate, 
cowering  in  some  corner  imtil  the  screams  of  Nero's 
living  tojches  need  to  be  drowned;  and  then,  with  brazen 
clangour  and  unabashed  rhythms,  this  brutal  music  flaimts 


98  CRITICAL   AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

forth  with  swarms  of  dancing  slaves,  shrilling  out  the 
praises  of  Nero;  and  the  time  for  successful  revolution  is 
at  hand. 

The  first  steps  toward  actually  defining  the  new  music 
took  place  in  the  second  century,  when  the  Christians 
were  free  to  worship  more  openly,  and,  having  wealthy 
converts  among  them,  held  their  meetings  in  public 
places  and  basilicas  which  were  used  by  magistrates  and 
other  officials  during  the  day.  These  basilicas  or  public 
halls  had  a  raised  platform  at  one  end,  on  which  the 
magistrate  sat  when  in  office.  There  were  steps  up  to  it, 
and  on  these  steps  the  clergy  stood.  The.  rest  of  the  hall 
was  called  the  "nave"  (ship),  for  the  simile  of  "storm- 
tossed  mariners  "  was  always  dear  to  the  early  Christian 
church.  In  the  centre  of  the  nave  stood  the  reader  of 
the  Scriptures,  and  on  each  side  of  him,  ranged  along  the 
wall,  were  the  singers.  The  Psalms  were  sung  antipho- 
nally,  that  is,  first  one  side  would  sing  and  the  other  side 
would  answer.  The  congregations  were  sometimes  im- 
mense, for  according  to  St.  Jerome  (340-420  A.  D.)  and 
St.  Ambrose  (340-397  A.  D.)  "the  roofs  reechoed  with 
their  cries  of  'Alleluia,'  which  in  sound  were  Uke  the  great 
waves  of  the  surging  sea. " 

Nevertheless  tMs  was,  as  yet,  only  sound,  and  not 
music.  Not  until  many  centuries  later  did  music  become 
distinct  from  chanting,  which  is  merely  intoned  speech. 
The  disputes  of  the  Arians  and  the  Athanasians  also 
affected  the  music  of  the  church,  for  as  early  as  306  A.  D., 
Anus  introduced  many  secular  melodies,  and  had  them 
sung  by  women. 


THE  EARLY  CHURCH  99 

Passing  over  this,  we  find  that  the  first  actual  arrange- 
ment of  Christian  music  into  a  regular  system  was 
attempted  by  Pope  Sylvester,  in  314  A.  D.,  when  he 
instituted  singing  schools,  and  when  the  heresy  of  Arius 
was  formally  condemned. 

Now  this  chanting  or  singing  of  hymns  was  more  or 
less  a  declamation,  thus  following  the  Greek  tradition  of 
using  one  central  note,  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a 
keynote. 

Rhythm,  distinct  melody,  and  even  metre  were  avoided 
as  retaining  something  of  the  unclean,  brutal  heathenism 
against  which  the  Christians  had  revolted.  It  was  the 
effort  to  keep  the  music  of  the  church  pure  and  undefiled 
that  caused  the  Council  of  Laodicea  (367  A.  D.)  to  exclude 
from  the  church  all  singing  not  authorized  from  the  pulpit. 

A  few  years  later  (about  370  A.  D.)  Ambrose,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Milan,  strove  to  define  this  music  more  clearly, 
by  fixing  upon  the  modes  that  were  to  be  allowed  for  these 
chants;  for  we  must  remember  that  all  music  was  still 
based  upon  the  Greek  modes,  the  modern  major  and 
minor  being  as  yet  unknown.  In  the  course  of  time  the 
ancient  modes  had  become  corrupted,  and  the  modes  that 
Ambrose  took  for  his  hymns  were  therefore  different  from 
those   known   in   Greece   under   the   same   names.     His 

Dorian  is  what  the  ancients  called  Phrygian,  r^        -^=- 


dominant.  A;   his    Phrygian    was    the   ancient    Dorian, 
}^       ^^  dominant,  C;  his  Lydian  corresponded  to 


the  old  Hypolydian,  P^-p — '^=-  dominant,  C;  and  his 


lOO  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 


Mixolydian    to    the    old    Hypophrygian,  pfc 


dominant,  D.    These  modes  were  accepted  by  the  church 
and  were  called  the  Authentic  modes. 

Almost  two  centuries  later,  Gregory  the  Great  added 
four  more  modes,  which  were  called  Plagal  or  side  modes 
(from  plagios  —  oblique).    These  were  as  follows: 

^ Ke)mote 

Hypodorian,  tw     j^-^     ''•^       dominant,  F. 


Hypophrygiai 


n,    hm       ~J — "^ —  dominant,  A. 


I 


Hypolydian,    hfe „ — ^ —  dominant,  A. 


Hypo-mixolydian,  pm~~ — ^  dominant,  C. 


It  is  easy  to  see  that  these  so-called  new  modes  are 
simply  new  versions  of  the  first  four;  although  they  are 
lowered  a  fourth  beneath  the  authentic  modes  (hence  the 
hypo),  the  keynote  remains  the  same  in  each  instance. 
Still  later  two  more  modes  were  added  to  this  list,  the 

Ionic,  pm         ^^^  dominant,  G,  which  corresponded  to 


the  ancient  Greek  Lydian;  and  the  ^Eohan, 


dominant,  E,  which,  strange  to  say,  was  the  only  one  of 
these  newer  modes  which  corresponded  to  its  Greek  name- 
sake. Naturally  these  two  newly  admitted  modes  were 
also  accompanied  by  their  lower  pitched  attendant  modes, 

the  Hypoionic,  i-w— - — ^    <=>       dominant,  E,  and  the 


lian,  B_^_J= 


Hypoaeolian,  Pgp  g,     "  dominant,  C. 


THE  EARLY   CHURCH 


lOI 


SUMMARY 

Mode.  Key.       Dominant. 

Dorian D  A 

Hypodorian D  F 

Phrygian E  C 

Hypophrygian E  A 

Lydian F  C 

Hypolydian F  A 

Mixolydian G  D 

Hypo-mixolydian G  C 

iEolian A  E 

Hypoaeolian A  C 

Ionian C  G 

Hypoionian C  E 


Dominants 


t^^-jri^^^  J  i  .'  i 


Now  all  these  lower,  or  derived  modes,  Hypodorian, 
Hypophrygian,  Hypolydian,  etc.,  received  the  name  Plagal 
modes,  because  there  was  but  one  tonic  or  keynote  in 
the  scale;  consequently  a  melody  starting  on  any  degree 
of  the  scale  would  invariably  return  to  the  same  tonic 
or  keynote.  They  differed  from  the  authentic  modes, 
inasmuch  as  in  the  latter  a  melody  might  end  either  on 
the  upper  or  lower  tonic  or  keynote.  Thus  the  melody 
itself  was  said  to  be  either  authentic  or  plagal,  according 
to  whether  it  had  one  or  two  tonics.  The  theme  of 
Schumann's  "Etudes  symphoniques "  is  authentic,  and 
the  first  variation  is  plagal. 


I02  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

Between  the  sixth  and  tenth  centuries  there  was  much 
confusion  as  to  the  placing  of  these  modes,  but  they  finally 
stood  as  given  above.  The  Greek  names  were  definitely 
accepted  in  the  eleventh  century,  or  thereabouts;  pre- 
viously, they  were  known  also  as  the  first,  second,  third, 
etc.,  up  to  the  twelfth,  church  tones  or  Gregorian  modes. 

At  this  point  it  is  necessary  to  refer  again  to  Ambrose. 
Apart  from  having  brought  the  first  four  authentic  modes 
into  church  music,  he  composed  many  hymns  which  had 
this  peculiarity,  namely,  that  they  were  modelled  more  on 
the  actual  declamation  of  the  words  to  be  sung  than  had 
hitherto  been  the  case.  We  are  told  that  his  chants  —  to 
use  the  phrase  of  his  contemporary,  Francis  of  Cologne  — 
were  "all  for  sweetness  and  melodious  sound";  and  St. 
Augustine  (354-430  A.  D.),  speaks  of  them  with  ecstasy. 
The  words  in  these  hymns  were  used  in  connection  with 
small  groups  of  notes;  consequently  they  could  be  under- 
stood as  they  were  sung,  thus  returning  in  a  measure  to 
the  character  of  the  music  of  the  ancients,  in  which  the 
word  and  declamation  were  of  greater  importance  than 
the  actual  sounds  which  accompanied  them.  But  now  a 
strange  thing  was  to  happen  that  was  to  give  us  a  new  art. 
Now,  at  last,  music  was  to  be  separated  from  language  and 
dance  rhythms,  and  stand  alone  for  the  first  time  in  the 
history  of  civilization  as  pure  music. 

To  appreciate  the  change  made  by  Gregory  (540-604 
A.  D.),  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  the  state  of  the 
church  just  before  his  time.  As  the  Ambrosian  chant 
had  brought  something  of  the  old  declamation  and  sweet- 
ness back  into  the  church  ceremonial,  so  also  in  the 


THE  EARLY  CHURCH  103 

church  itself  there  was  a  tendency  to  sink  back  into  the 
golden  shimmer  that  had  surrounded  the  ancient  pagan 
rites.  Already  Paul  of  Samosata,  Bishop  of  Antioch 
(260  A.  D.),  had  striven  to  bring  a  certain  Oriental 
magnificence  into  the  church  ceremonials.  He  had  a 
canopied  throne  erected  for  himself,  from  which  he  would 
address  his  congregation;  he  introduced  applause  into  the 
church,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Roman  theatres;  he  also 
had  a  chorus  of  women  singers,  who,  as  Eusebius  tells  us, 
sang  not  the  Christian  hymns,  but  pagan  tunes.  Later, 
in  Constantinople,  even  this  luxury  and  pomp  increased; 
the  churches  had  domes  of  burnished  gold,  and  had  become 
gigantic  palaces,  lit  by  thousands  of  lamps.  The  choir, 
dressed  in  glittering  robes,  was  placed  in  the  middle  of 
the  church,  and  these  singers  began  to  show  the  same 
fatal  sign  of  decadence  that  we  saw  before  in  Rome  and 
Greece.  According  to  St.  Chrysostom  (347-407  A.  D.), 
they  used  unguents  on  their  throats  in  order  to  make  the 
voice  flexible,  for  by  this  time  the  singing  had  become  a 
mere  vehicle  for  virtuosity;  when  they  sang  their  tours  de 
force,  the  people  applauded  and  waved  their  handker- 
chiefs, as  they  did  also  when  the  preaching  pleased  them. 
The  pagans  pointed  the  finger  of  scorn  at  the  Christians, 
as  being  mere  renegades  from  the  old  rehgion,  and  said, 
plausibly  enough,  that  their  worship  was  merely  another 
form  of  the  Dionysus  tragedy.  There  was  the  same  altar, 
the  same  chorus,  the  priest  who  sang  and  was  answered 
by  the  chorus;  and  the  resemblance  had  grown  to  such  an 
extent  that  St.  Chrysostom  (350  A.  D.)  complained  that 
the  church  chorus  accompanied  its  singing  with  theatrical 


104  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

gestures,  which,  as  we  know,  is  simply  the  first  step  to- 
wards the  dance. 

This  was  the  state  of  things  when  Gregory  became 
Pope  in  590  A.  D.  His  additions  to  the  modes  already 
in  use  have  been  explained.  His  great  reform  lay  in 
severing  the  connection  between  the  music  of  the  church 
and  that  of  the  pagan  world  before  it.  Casting  aside  the 
declamation  and  rhythm,  which  up  to  now  had  always 
dominated  pure  sound,  he  abolished  the  style  of  church 
singing  in  vogue,  and  substituted  for  it  a  system  of  chant- 
ing in  which  every  tie  between  the  words  and  music  was 
severed. 

The  music  was  certainly  primitive  enough,  for  it  con- 
sisted merely  of  a  rising  and  falling  of  the  voice  for  the 
space  of  many  notes  on  one  single  syllable,  as,  for  instance, 


^:fs=^ 


.r  r  cj--  nr  ^ 


^F=^=^ 


Glo 


The  difference  between  this  and  the  Ambrosian  chant  is 
evident  if  we  look  at  the  following;  and  we  must  also  bear 
in  mind  that  the  Ambrosian  chants  were  very  simple  in 
comparison  with  the  florid  tours  de  force  of  the  Byzantine 
church: 


f^T-^TWrr  I  Lj^'L^^^^i 


-/S <»—) a*   H* — p- 1 1 1- 


Al      me      pa  -   ter      Am  -  bro  -  si,      nos  -  tras,  pre  -ces, 


au  -    di    Christe,   ex  -  au  -  di-  nos 


THE  EARLY   CHURCH  I05 

Now  this  reform  could  not  be  carried  out  at  once; 
it  was  only  through  the  medium  of  Charlemagne  (742- 
814  A.  D.),  a  hundred  years  later,  that  the  Gregorian 
chant  was  firmly  estabUshed.  Authorized  by  a  synod  of 
bishops,  called  together  from  all  parts  of  Europe  by  Pope 
Adrian  I,  Charlemagne,  in  774,  caused  all  the  chant  and 
hymn  books  of  the  Ambrosian  system  throughout  Italy  to 
be  burned.  So  completely  was  this  accompUshed  that 
only  one  Ambrosian  missal  was  found  (by  St.  Eugenius  at 
Milan),  and  from  this  work  alone  can  we  form  any  idea 
as  to  the  character  of  the  music  used  by  the  followers  of 
Ambrose,  who  were  much  retarded  by  the  lack  of  a  mu- 
sical notation,  which  was  the  next  factor  needed  to  bring 
music  to  an  equality  with  the  other  arts. 


vin 

FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION 

In  comparing  the  Ambrosian  chant  with  that  of  Gregory, 
it  may  be  said  that  we  have  touched  upon  the  vital 
principle  of  modern  music.  The  novelty  in  the  Grego- 
rian chant  consisted  in  its  absolute  emancipation  from  the 
tyranny  of  actual  words  and  declamation;  while  the  idea, 
the  poetic  principle,  or  religious  ecstasy  still  remained  the 
ideal  to  be  expressed  in  the  music.  Before  this,  as  already 
explained,  music  was  either  a  mathematical  problem,  a 
rhythm  to  mark  the  time  in  dancing,  or  a  vehicle  serving 
for  the  display  of  clever  tours  de  force,  the  music  of  the 
tragedies  being  merely  a  kind  of  melodious  declamation. 
To  quote  Goethe,  "having  recognized  the  fact,  it  still 
remains  for  us  to  see  how  it  developed. "  Let  us  now  con- 
sider this  point. 

Three  things  were  necessary  before  these  Gregorian 
chants  could  develop  at  all:  (i)  A  simple,  clean-cut 
musical  scale  or  systematized  table  of  musical  soimds. 
(2)  Some  definite  manner  of  symbolizing  sounds,  so  that 
they  could  be  accurately  expressed  in  writing.  (3)  A 
cultivation  of  the  sense  of  hearing,  in  order  that  mankind 
might  learn  to  distinguish  between  sounds  that  are  dis- 
cordant and  those  that  sound  well  together;  in  other 
words,  harmony. 

106 


FORMATION  OF  TflE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       107 

We  will  begin  with  the  scale,  and  review  what  we  know 
of  the  Greek  modes  in  order  to  show  how  they  were 
amalgamated  into  our  present  octave  system  of  scales. 


1  Moliaa  or  Locrian 

1 

or  Hypo- 
donan 

1  Hypophrygian 

1 

^_ 

1  Hypolydian 

n 

Nete,  Piranete, 

-  Trite.  Nete. 

■^■^    ^ 

t 

1 

Trite, 
Paramese. 

'                    •                  _' 

_  Mese. 

.  i^icnanos.farnypate 

'*^II: 

Cf  ^   '^ 

:  Hypate,  Lfchanos, 

1  Mixolydian                    | 

1    Lydian                                    | 

1  Phrygian                                   | 
1  Dorian 

_J 

Parhypate,  Hypate, 
Proslambanomenos. 

Under  Ambrose  and  Pope  Gregory,  these  modes  had 
taken  a  different  form.  The  chromatic  and  enharmonic 
styles  had  been  abandoned  in  theory,  the  portamento 
which  the  singers  introduced  into  their  chants  being  the 
only  principle  retained.    The  new  system  was  as  follows: 

Ionian  Dorian  Phryg.  Lyd.  Mixolyd.  JEo\. 

1 1- 


f- 


i        ^       -^       ^.i 


8va  Bassa 


Hypoion.  |  Hypophryg.  |Hypo-niixolyd. 

Hypodor.     Hypolya.  Hypoxol. 

In  order  to  complete  the  story  of  the  evolution  of  scales 
and  clefs,  we  must  add  that  the  Flemish  monk,  Hucbald 
(900  A.  D.),  divided  this  scale  into  regular  tetrachords, 
beginning  at  G,  with  the  succession,  tone,  semitone,  tone, 
forming  four  disjimct  tetrachords, 


Io8  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 


i 


tzp-'g- 


-19-^- 


"aT^gy- 


This  division  remained  without  influence  on  the  develop- 
ment of  the  scale. 

The  first  change  in  the  tetrachord  system  of  reckoning 
tones  and  dividing  the  scale  was  made  by  Guido  d'Arezzo 
(first  half  of  eleventh  century),  who  divided  it  into  hexa- 
chords  or  groups  of  six  notes  each.  Up  to  that  time, 
each  note  of  the  scale  had  had  a  letter  of  the  alphabet  for 
its  symbol.  It  was  Guido  who  conceived  the  idea  of 
using  syllables  for  these  notes.  The  story  of  how  it 
occurred  to  him  is  well  known:  On  one  occasion,  hearing 
his  brethren  in  the  monastery  choir  of  Arezzo,  in  Tuscany, 
sing  a  hymn  to  St.  John  the  Baptist,  he  noticed  that  the 
first  syllable  of  each  line  came  on  regularly  ascending 
notes  of  the  scale,  the  first  syllable  coming  on  C,  the 
first  of  the  next  line  on  D,  the  first  of  the  third  on  E,  etc., 
up  to  A  on  the  sixth  line.  As  all  these  syllables  happened 
to  differ  one  from  the  other,  and,  moreover,  were  very 
easy  to  sing,  he  hit  upon  the  idea  of  using  them  to  dis- 
tinguish the  notes  on  which  they  fell  in  the  hymn. 


c\^ 

-* 

■ 

^  !• 

^           ^ 

^^ 

-_ 

rj      !^              -^     ej       ey 

^ 

rj 

^ 

ej 

^ 

Ut 

queant 

la 

- 

xis 

^«onare 

fibris 

P\' 

rs    '^ 

25»     ^ 

•  l« 

fj 

■    S? 

^ 

r2      in 

^ 

ej    (■ 

Mi       -       ra     ges  -    torum     Fa  •  mu  -  li    tu 


FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       109 


gr^^  >^  .^^^f  '"  -  '^^l^^g:^^!^ 


Sol  -  ve  poUuti  Lahi  -  i  re- a-  turn  Sancte  Joannes 
Furthermore,  as  there  were  six  of  these  syllables,  he 
arranged  the  musical  scale  in  groups  of  six  notes  instead 
of  four,  hexachords  instead  of  tetrachords.  Commenc- 
ing with  G,  which  was  the  lowest  note  of  the  system  in 
Hucbald's  time,  the  first  hexachord  was  formed  of  G  A 
B  C  D  E;  the  second,  following  the  example  of  the  Greeks, 
he  made  to  overlap  the  first,  namely,  C  D  E  F  G  A;  the 
third,  likewise  overlapping  the  second,  commenced  on 
F.  In  order  to  make  this  hexachord  identical  in  structure 
with  the  first  and  second,  he  flatted  the  B,  thus  making 
the  succession  of  notes,  F  G  A  Bb  C  D.  The  next  three 
hexachords  were  repetitions  of  the  first  three,  namely, 
G  A  B  C  D  E,  C  D  E  F  G  A,  F  G  A  Bb  C  D;  the  last 
was  again  a  repetition  of  the  first,  G  A  B  C  D  E. 

The    Gamut. 

Hard  Low  Natural   Low  Soft  Low 


Ut 

re  mi  fa   sol  la  Ut  re 

mi 

fa  sol  la  Ut  re   mi  fa   sol  la 

C\  ' 

r2  '^          rQ    ^ 

*-j. 

t^ 

-X                                ^      Cy      ^                C/    '-' 

0  ^ 

r 

Gamma 

A  B    C    D   E    C  D 

E 

FGaFGabcd 

Hard  High 

"la 

Natural  High 

Ut 

re      mi       fa     sol 

Ut    re     mi     fa     sol     la 

f 

/v 

\(\ 

i      r2      ^ 

\s\} 

^      ^      ^ 

G 

abed 

e 

G>       ^       - 

c       d      e      f       g     aa 

no 


CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL   ESSAYS 
Soft  High  Hard  Super  Acute 


Ut 

re 

mi 

fa 

sol 

la 

Ut 

re 

mi 

fa 

sol 

la 

/                                                               ^                                                   ^       r^ 

/' 

b/r? 

c^ 

'■^ 

h/^- 

<v 

■-^ 

f( 

^    ^^ 

.^-i 

c/ 

,^,-^ 

'I' 

H«^ 

\- 

)   ^     ^                           .^          . 

K^ 

f 

g 

aa 

bb 

cc 

dd 

g 

aa 

bb 

cc 

dd 

ee 

To  the  lowest  note  of  this  scale,  which  was  foreign  to 
the  Greek  system,  he  gave  a  special  name,  gamma,  after 
the  Greek  letter  G.  From  this  we  get  our  word  for  the 
scale,  the  gamut.  The  other  notes  remained  the  same  as 
before,  only  that  for  the  lowest  octave  capital  letters  were 
used;  in  the  next  octave,  the  notes  were  designated  by 
small  letters,  and  in  the  last  octave  by  double  letters,  aa, 
bb,  etc.,  as  in  the  following  example. 


Capitals. 


Small  letters 


Double  or  very 

small  letters 
ez. 


s 


^^ 


-ISr 


Contra        Great 


Present  Scale. 


Small 


ISt 

c' 


3rd 

2nd     c'" 


4th 


zginC: 


:C: 


Following  out  his  system,  he  applied  the  newly  acquired 
syllables  to  each  of  the  hexachords  —  for  instance,  the 
lowest  hexachord,  G  A  B  C  D  E,  which  was  called  hard, 
became  ut  re  mi  fa  sol  la;  the  second,  which  was  called 
natural,  C  D  E  F  G  A,  also  became  ut  re  mi  fa  sol  la; 


FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       III 

and  the  third,  which  was  called  soft,  F  G  A  Bb  C  D, 
became  likewise  ut  re  mi  fa  sol  la.  The  next  three 
hexachords  were  treated  in  the  same  manner;  the  last 
or  seventh  hexachord  was  merely  a  repetition  of  the  first 
and  the  foiurth. 

Now  in  the  hymns,  and  also  in  the  sequences,  as  they 
were  called  (which  were  simply  a  series  of  notes  forming 
a  Uttle  melody  sung  to  two  or  three  words),  the  voice  was 
rarely  called  upon  to  progress  more  than  the  interval  of 
a  sixth,  and  so  this  solmization,  as  the  new  system  was 
called,  was  very  valuable;  for  one  had  only  to  give  the 
pitch,  and  ut  always  meant  the  keynote,  re  the  second, 
mi  the  third,  etc.,  etc.  In  time  ut  was  found  to  be  a 
difl&cult  syllable  to  sing,  and  do  was  substituted.  This 
change,  however,  was  made  after  the  scale  was  divided 
into  a  system  of  octaves  instead  of  hexachords.  The 
improvement  in  singing  soon  made  the  limits  of  the  hexa- 
chords too  small  to  be  practical;  therefore  another  syllable 
was  added  to  the  hexachordal  system,  si,  and  with  this 
seventh  note  we  have  our  modern  scale.  From  this  we  see 
that  the  scale  in  present  use  is  composed  of  octaves,  just 
as  the  older  scales  were  composed  of  hexachords,  and 
before  that  tetrachords.  Just  as  in  mediaeval  times  each 
hexachord  commenced  with  ut,  so  now  every  octave  of 
our  tonal  system  commences  with  do. 

Before  leaving  the  hexachordal  system,  it  may  be  as 
well  to  explain  the  mode  of  procedure  when  the  voice  had 
to  go  beyond  the  interval  of  the  sixth.  We  know  that 
the  first  of  every  set  of  six  notes  was  called  ut,  the  second, 
re,  the  third,  mi,  etc.     When  the  voice  had  to  go  beyond 


112  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

la,  the  sixth  note,  to  Bif,  that  sixth  note  was  always  called 
re,  and  was  considered  the  second  note  of  a  new  hexa- 
chord.     If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  voice  had  to  go  beyond 

a,  to  Bb,  the  fifth  note  was  called  re,  since  the  syllables  mi 
fa  must  always  come  on  the  half-tone. 

In  a  study  of  our  system  of  writing  music,  it  may  be 
as  well  to  begin  with  the  derivation  of  our  sharps  and 
flats.  Observing  the  third  hexachord  on  our  list  we  see 
that  in  order  to  make  it  identical  in  structure  with  the 
first  and  second,  the  B  had  to  be  lowered  a  semitone. 
Now  the  third  hexachord  was  called  soft.  The  Bb  in 
it  was  accordingly  called  a  soft  B  or  B  molle,  which  is 
still  the  name  in  France  for  a  flat,  and  moll  in  German 
still  means  minor,  or  "soft"  or  ''lowered."  For  the 
fourth  hexachord,  which  was  called  hard,  this  B  was 
again  raised  a  semitone.  But  the  flatted  B  was  already 
indicated  by  the  letter  b  or  round  b,  as  it  was  called; 
hence  this  B  natural  was  given  a  square  shape  and  called 
B  carre,  ^.  The  present  French  word  for  natural  (when 
it  is  specially  marked)  is  becarre;  the  German  word  for 
major  also  comes  indirectly  from  this,  for  dur  means 
"hard." 

An  explanation  of  the  mbdern  German  names  for  notes 
will  be  easily  understood  in  this  connection.  In  the 
German  nomenclature  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  stand 
for  the  notes  of  the  scale  as  in  the  English,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  B.  This  B,  or  "rotmd"  B,  in  the  German  system 
stands  for  Bb,  which  is  more  logical  than  our  English 
usage,  since  our  flat  is  merely  a  slightly  modified  form  of 

b.  The  German  B  natural  is  our  letter  h,  which  is  merely 


FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       1 13 

a  corruption  of  the  square  b,  i},  which  by  the  addition  of 
a  line  in  time  became  our  i|.  The  Germans  have  car- 
ried the  flatting  and  sharping  of  tones  to  a  logical  con- 
clusion in  their  present  nomenclature,  for  by  "sharping" 
the  sound  of  a  single  letter  it  is  raised  a  semitone  from  its 
normal  diapason,  thus  F  becomes  Fis,  G  Gis.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  order  to  lower  a  tone,  the  letter  representing 
it  is  "flatted,"  and  F  is  called  Fes,  G  Ges,  the  only  ex- 
ception to  these  rules  being  the  B  which  we  have  already 
considered. 

In  France  the  Guidonian  system  was  adhered  to  closely, 
and  to  this  day  the  becarre  is  used  only  as  an  accidental, 
to  indicate  that  the  note  to  which  it  refers  has  been 
flatted  before.  The  naturel  (which  has  the  same  shape) 
is  used  to  designate  a  note  that  is  natural  to  the 
key;  thus  the  distinction  is  made  between  an  accidental 
and  a  note  that  is  common  to  the  key.  In  F  major, 
for  instance,  Bt}  is  si  becarre,  Ai|  would  be  la  naturel. 
Our  modern  sharp  is  merely  another  form  of  the  natural 
or  square  B  (i{)  which  gradually  came  to  be  used  before 
any  note,  signifying  that  it  was  raised  or  sharped  a  half- 
tone; the  flat  lowered  it  a  semitone,  and  after  a  while  the 
natural  received  its  present  place  between  the  sharp  and 
flat.  The  first  instance  we  have  of  the  sharp  being  used 
is  in  the  thirteenth  century,  when  (in  the  Rondels  of 
Adam  de  la  Hale)  it  takes  the  form  of  a  cross  x  (the 
German  word  for  the  sharp  still  remains  kreuz).  The 
French  word  diese  (sharp)  comes  from  the  Greek  diesis, 
a  term  used  to  indicate  the  raising  of  the  voice  in  the 
chromatic  scale. 


114  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

And  now  we  have  to  speak  of  notation  and  its  develop- 
ment. Thus  far  we  have  found  only  two  ways  in  which 
musical  sounds  were  indicated  by  the  ancients.  First,  we 
remember  the  invention  of  Aristophanes  of  Alexandria, 
his  accents,  high,  low,  and  circumflex.  Then  we  know 
from  Ptolemy,  Boethius,  and  Alypius  that  letters  were 
used  to  designate  the  different  tones;  but  as  there  is  no 
music  extant  in  this  notation  to  prove  the  theory,  we  need 
not  trouble  ourselves  with  it. 

The  system  of  Aristophanes,  however,  was  destined  to 
become  the  nucleus  from  which  our  modern  notation 
sprang.  We  know  that  an  elementary  idea,  clearly  ex- 
pressed, has  more  chances  of  living  than  has  a  more  com- 
plicated system,  however  ingenious  the  latter  may  be. 
Now  this  system  is  so  plain  that  we  will  find  it  is  common 
to  many  aboriginal  peoples,  for  instance  the  American 
Indians  have  a  system  very  similar. 

In  the  period  now  imder  consideration  (from  the  third 
to  the  tenth  century),  music  was  noted  in  this  way:  an  up- 
stroke of  the  pen  meant  a  raising  of  the  voice,  a  down- 
stroke  lowered  it,  a  flat  stroke  meant  a  repetition  of  the 


same  note,  thus  /  \  —   ppa        a-  .     Gradually 


it  became  necessary  to  indicate  the  contour  of  the  melo- 
dies with  more  accuracy;   therefore  the  circumflex  was 


added  ^-^  \4b-^-^--^-  and  reversed  -^  vm^^^^ .    Still 


later  a  sign  for  two  steps  was  invented  j-'    ^m 


and  when  the  progression  was  to  be  diatonically  stepwise 


FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       II5 

the  strokes  were  thicker  j^  ^m  a>  -^  '-^^ .  So  this  nota- 
tion developed,  and  by  combining  the  many  signs  together, 
simple  non- rhythmic  melodies  could  be  indicated  with  com- 
parative clearness  and  simplicity.     The  flat  stroke  for  a 


single  note  -,  indicating  ^-^-,  eventually  became  smaller 


and  thicker,  thus  — .     By  combining  these  different  signs, 

a  skip  of  a  third  and  back  came  to  be  noted  -n-,and 
if  the  note  came  down  on  a  second  instead  of  the  original 

note  it  became  J"^  "^  J  J=^ .  The  guilisma  (^)  indi- 
cated a  repetition  of  two  notes,  one  above  the  other,  and 
we  still  use  much  the  same  sign  for  our  trill.  Also  the  two 
forms  of  the  circimiflex,  --^  ^~^,  were  joined  ('X.')  and  thus 
we  have  the  modem  turn,  so  much  used  by  Wagner. 

Now  while  this  notation  was  ingenious,  it  still  left  much 
to  be  desired  as  to  pitch.  To  remedy  this  a  red  line  was 
drawn  before  writing  these  signs  or  neumes,  as  they  were 
called.  This  Une  represented  a  given  pitch,  generally  E; 
above  and  below  it  were  then  written  the  signs  for  the 
notes,  their  pitch  being  determined  by  the  relative  position 

they  held  in  regard  to  the  line.    Thus  -^^^^'^^^  was  the 

equivalent  of  W^^^T^^  j  j    '  j^  J  J  J  J  J=.  consider- 

ing  the  Une  as  being  middle  C  pitch,  a  fourth  higher  F. 

This  was  the  condition  of  musical  notation  in  1000  A.  D. 

To  Guido  d'Arezzo  is  ascribed  its  development  up  to 

some  semblance  of  our  present  system,   although  the 


Il6  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

claim  has  often  been  denied.  It  is  certain,  however,  that 
the  innovations  were  made  at  this  period.  In  the  first 
place  Guido  made  the  red  line  always  stand  for  the  pitch 
of  F,  and  at  a  Uttle  distance  above  it  he  added  another 
line,  this  time  yellow,  which  was  to  indicate  the  pitch  of 
C.  Thus  the  signs  began  to  take  very  definite  meaning 
as  regards  pitch;  for,  given  a  sign  extending  from  one  line 
to  the  other,  the  reader  could  see  at  a  glance  that  the 
music  progressed  a  fifth,  from  F  to  C,  or  vice-versa.  And 
now  the  copyists,  seeing  the  value  of  these  hues  in  deter- 
mining the  pitch  of  the  different  signs,  of  their  own  ac- 
count added  two  more  in  black  ink,  one  of  which  they  drew 
between  the  F  and  the  C  Une,  and  the  other  above  the 


C  line,  thus ■ .     By  doing  this  they  accurately 

decided  the  pitch  of  every  note,  for  the  lowest  line,  being 
F,  the  Une  between  that  and  the  C  fine  must  stand  for  A, 
and  the  two  spaces  for  G  and  B;  the  top  Une  would  stand 
for  E,  and  the  space  between  it  and  the  yeUow  Une  for  D. 
Little  by  little  these  copyists  grew  careless  about 
making  the  lines  in  yellow,  red,  and  black,  and  sometimes 
drew  them  all  in  black  or  red,  thereby  losing  the  distin- 
guishing mark  of  the  F  and  C  Unes.  In  order  to  remedy 
this,  Guido  placed  the  letters  F  and  C  before  the  lines  rep- 


c^ 


resenting  these  notes,  thus    f  .     In  this  way  our 

modern  clefs  (clavis  or  key)  originated,  for  the  C  clef,  as 
it  is  caUed,  graduaUy  changed  its  shape  to  C  d  F  and 
tc  1^,  and  the  F  clef  changed  to  ^^Q  =3;,  which  is  our 
bass  clef  in  a  rudimentary  form. 


FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       1 17 

Later,  still  another  line  was  added  to  the  set,  thus  giv- 
ing us  our  modern  sta£F,  and  another  clef,  \  ,  was  added 
on  the  next  to  the  lowest  line.  This,  in  turn,  became  our 
present  treble  clef,  # .  In  the  course  of  time  the  signs 
themselves  xmderwent  many  changes,  until  at  last  from 

1 ,  etc.,  they  became  our  modem  signs. 

Before  this,  however,  a  grave  defect  in  the  notation  had 
to  be  remedied.  There  was  as  yet  no  way  of  designating 
the  length  of  time  a  note  was  to  be  sustained;  something 
definite  in  the  way  of  noting  rhythm  was  necessary.  This 
was  accomplished  by  Franco  of  Cologne,  in  the  beginning 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  By  disconnecting  the  parts 
of  the  sign  -P"  one  from  another,  the  following  indi- 
vidual signs  were  acquired  ■  "  ■ .  In  order  to  have  two 
distinct  values  of  length,  these  signs  were  called  longs  and 
shorts,  longa  ^,  and  brevis  ■,  to  which  was  added  the 
brevis  in  another  position  ♦,  called  semibrevis.  The 
longa  was  twice  the  value  of  the  brevis,  and  the  semibrevis 
was  half  the  length  of  the  brevis  (i^  =  BH  ■=♦♦). 
When  notes  of  equal  length  were  slurred,  they  were  written 
j-J  .  When  two  or  more  notes  were  to  be  simg  to  one 
syllable  in  quicker  time,  the  brevi  were  joined  one  to  the 
other  S,  as  for  instance  in  the  songs  of  the  thirteenth 
century, 

DIRGE  FOR  KING  RICHARD'S  DEATH 

Gaucelm  Faidit. 


Fortz  chose     est     que     tot       le     maur    ma  -  jor       dam 


Il8  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Roi  Thibaut  de  Navarre  (1250). 


Si    li  dis  sans  de  laies  Belle  diex  vo us      dointbonjour 

or,  in  modem  style, 


^^^^-^^-.JM^jttTjT^-j 


In  this  example  we  find  the  first  indication  of  the  measur- 
ing off  of  phrases  into  bars.  As  we  see,  it  consisted  of 
a  Uttle  stroke,  which  served  to  show  the  beginning  of  a 
new  line,  and  was  not  restricted  to  regularity  of  any  kind 
except  that  necessitated  by  the  verse. 

The  use  of  the  semibrevis  is  shown  in  the  following 
chanson  of  Raoul  de  Coucy  (1192): 


_jg ■ f B — pij 

i 

^           r- — - — !♦♦    n     "^^-^ — mr- 

■ 

Quant     li        ros  -    sig  -   nol        jo      -      lis 

~i*~ii "^    ir    ■-    ■    1^ — ^iT^ m    ^ 

chan 

-  te 

Fm           1 

^        ■"^■'                               ♦* 

-^ P 

b^t*J 

Seur     la    flor    d'este      que  n'est   la      rose        et      le       lis 


i 


^s 


^ 


W 


3tZ* 


d     S     •^ 


f=^.^V-rrMEm-^^^ 


Thfe  French  troubadours  and  the  German  minnesingers 
of  the  thirteenth  century  used  these  forms  of  notes  only, 
and  even  then  restricted  themselves  to  two  kinds,  either 
the  longa  and  brevis,  or  brevis  and  semibrevis. 


FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       119 

The  necessity  for  rests  very  soon  manifested  itself, 
and  the  following  signs  were  invented  to  correspond  to 


the  longa,  brems,  and  semibrevis    HJ ■= .    Also 

the  number  of  note  symbols  was  increased  by  the  maxima 
or  double  longa  ,  and  the  minima  [,  which  represented 
half  the  value  of  the  semibrevis. 

Now  that  music  began  taking  a  more  definite  rhythmic 
form  than  before,  a  more  regular  dividing  off  of  the 
phrases  became  necessary.  This  was  accomplished  by 
the  use  of  a  dot,  and  another  form,  the  perpendicular 
hne,  which  we  have  noticed  in  the  song  of  the  King  of 
Navarre  (1250),  At  first  a  means  to  indicate  triple 
time  was  invented,  and  the  measure  corresponding  to  our 
8  was  indicated  by  placing  the  sign  O  at  the  beginning 
of  the  line.  This  was  called  perfect.  Then,  for  plain 
triple  time  the  dot  was  omitted  O;  for  3  time  the  sign  C 
was  adopted,  and  for  ordinary  common  time  C  was  taken. 
Consequently,  when  these  signs  were  placed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  hne  they  changed  the  value  of  the  notes  to 
correspond  to  the  time  marked.  Thus  in  O  (temptis 
perfectum,  prolatio  major)  or  §,  the  brevis  was  reckoned 

worth  three  semibrevi  ■=♦♦♦  (<=>•  =  J.  J.  J.);  the  semi- 
brevis three  minimi  ♦  =  !  i  i  0-  =  J  J  «).  In  O  or  4 
time  ■  =  ♦  ♦  ♦  (r*=r  r  r)j  but  the  semibrevis  was 
only  as  long  as  two  minimi  ♦  =  !  i  (J  =  J^-  In  C 
or  8  time  ■  =  ♦  ♦  (J.=  J.  J-:),  but  ♦  =  i  i  X 
U.=  JTJ).  In  C  or  2  time  .  ^  ♦  •  («=  J  J), 
and    ♦^X     i     (J=  J     j). 


I20  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

In  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century  the  notes  began 
to  be  written  in  an  open  form 


1        1 

Maxima. 

H 

Longa. 

a 

Brevis. 

o 

Semibrevis. 

I 

Minima. 

^ 

Semiminima,  which  was  added  later. 

As  still  smaller  units  of  value  were  added,  the  semi- 
minima  was  replaced  by  |,  and  the  half  semiminima  thus 
became  i,  and  the  next  smaller  values,  ^  and  ^  .  The 
rest  to  correspond  to  the  semiminima  was  f ;  for  the  semi- 
brevis -— ,  and  minima  — . 

Thus  we  have  the  following  values  and  their  correspond- 
ing rests: 


Maxima 

' 1 

Longa 

R 

Brevis 

D 

Semibrevis 

o 

Minima 

i 

Semiminima  or  crocheta      i  f 
Fusa  or  crocheta      t  T 
Semifusa      ^  ^ 

The  rests  for  the  fusa  and  semifusa  were  turned  to  the  left 
in  order  to  avoid  the  confusion  that  would  ensue  if  the 


FORMATION  OF  THE  SCALE  —  NOTATION       I2I 

rest  f  stood  for  ^.    Besides,  the  sign  would  have  easily 
become  confused  with  the  C  clef  |^. 

Signs  for  the  changes  of  tempo,  that  is  to  say  changes 
from  quick  to  slow,  etc.,  were  introduced  in  the  fifteenth 
century.  The  oldest  of  them  consists  of  drawing  a  line 
through  the  tempus  sign  CJ).  This  meant  that  the  notes 
were  to  be  played  or  sung  twice  as  rapidly  as  would 
usually  be  the  case,  without,  however,  affecting  the  rela- 
tive value  of  the  notes  to  one  another.  Now  we  remem- 
ber that  the  sign  C  stood  for  our  modem  4  time;  when 
a  Une  was  drawn  through  it,  (jj,  it  indicated  that  two 
hreoi  were  counted  as  one,  and  the  movement  was  said 
to  be  alia  breve.  This  is  the  one  instance  of  time  signa- 
tures that  has  come  down  to  us  tmaltered. 


IX 

THE    SYSTEMS    OF  HUCBALD  AND    GUIDO  D' 
AREZZO— THE  BEGINNING  OF  COUNTERPOINT 

We  have  seen  that  by  order  of  Charlemagne,  Ambrosian 
chant  was  superseded  by  that  of  Gregory,  and  from  any 
history  of  music  we  may  learn  how  he  caused  the  Gre- 
gorian chant  to  be  taught  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
music.  Although  Notker,  in  the  monastery  of  St.  Gall, 
in  Switzerland,  and  others  developed  the  Gregorian  chant, 
until  the  time  of  Hucbald  this  music  remained  mere 
wandering  melody,  without  harmonic  support  of  any  kind. 

Hucbald  (840-930)  was  a  monk  of  the  monastery  of 
St.  Armand  in  Flanders.  As  we  know  from  our  studies 
in  notation,  he  was  the  first  to  improve  the  notation  by 
introducing  a  system  of  lines  and  spaces,  of  which,  however, 
the  spaces  only  were  utilized  for  indicating  the  notes,  viz. : 

L dO;^^ 

t    X  /      'mini 

t  L    sit  oria in  .-^"*^  .  bitur  dominus 

S   Jt  glO^  do  SCB^  \.^^/ 

t   J^  /        mini_ 


Ice 


t   M  sit^  pria^ in.  /^"*^\  /bitur  dominus 

S  J  'glo^  ^soe'^  \ta/ 

t  ^  do,  loe' 

t  F  /       mini  .  bitur  dominus' 

t    "^  sit  pria/  iny         cula\    ta  / 

S  f  gio''  do  soe-^  \|oe^ 

X  "^  ^      ^mini^ 

t  "1  stT  oria'  in.  cuia,  bitur  dominus 


glo soe^ \  ta/ 


t  1  loe 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  COUNTERPOINT  123 

His  attempt  to  reconstruct  the  musical  scale  was  after- 
wards overshadowed  by  the  system  invented  by  Guido 
d'Arezzo,  and  it  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  describe  it 
in  detail.  His  great  contribution  to  progress  was  the 
discovery  that  more  than  one  sound  could  be  played  or 
sung  simultaneously,  thus  creating  a  composite  sound, 
the  effect  which  we  call  a  chord.  However,  in  deciding 
which  sounds  should  be  allowed  to  be  played  or  sung 
together,  he  was  influenced  partly  by  the  mysticism  of 
his  age,  and  partly  by  a  blind  adherence  to  the  remnants 
of  musical  theory  which  had  been  handed  down  from  the 
Greeks.  As  Franco  of  Cologne,  later  (1200),  in  systema- 
tizing rhythm  into  measure,  was  influenced  by  the  idea 
of  the  Trinity  in  making  his  §  or  §  time  tempus  perfedum, 
and  adopting  for  its  s)mibol  the  Pythagorean  circle  0 
or  O,  so  Hucbald,  in  choosing  his  series  of  concords  or 
sounds  that  harmonize  well  together,  took  the  first 
three  notes  of  the  overtones  of  every  sonorous  fimda- 
mental,  or,  to  express  it  differently,  of  the  series  of  natural 
harmonics,  that  is  to  say,  he  admitted  the  octave  and  fifth: 

^    ^    '^  But  from  the  fifth  to  the  octave  gives 


the  interval  of  the  fourth,  therefore  he  permitted  this 
combination  also. 

From  the  works  of  Bcethius  {circa  400)  and  others,  he 
had  derived  and  accepted  the  Pythagorean  division  of 
the  scale,  making  thirds  and  sixths  dissonant  intervals; 
and  so  his  perfect  chord  (from  which  our  later  triad  gets 
its  name  of  perfect)  was  composed  of  a  root,  fifth  or  fourth, 
and  octave. 


124  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Hucbald,  as  I  have  already  explained,  changed  the 
Greek  tone  system  somewhat  by  arranging  it  in  four 
regular  disjunct  tetrachords,  namely: 


-<&-^a. 


^    I^  -ZT-  -^ 

This  system  permitted  the  addition  of  a  fifth  to  each 
note  indiscriminately,  and  the  fifths  would  always  be 
perfect;  but  in  regard  to  the  octaves  it  was  faulty,  for 
obvious  reasons.  As  his  system  of  notation  consisted  of 
merely  writing  T  for  tone  and  S  for  semitone  between 
the  lines  of  his  staff,  it  was  only  necessary  to  change  the 
order  of  these  letters  for  the  octave  at  the  beginning  of 
each  line.  With  the  fourth,  howevef,  this  device  was 
impossible,  and  therefore  he  laid  down  the  rule  that  when 
the  voices  proceeded  in  fourths,  and  a  discord  (or  aug- 
mented fourth)  was  unavoidable,  the  lower  voice  was  to 
remain  on  the  same  note  until  it  could  jump  to  another 
fourth  forming  a  perfect  interval: 


^ 


-42Z- 


f2- 


f=^ 


This  at  least  brought  into  the  harmony  an  occasional  third, 
which  gradually  became  a  recognized  factor  in  music. 

We  probably  know  that  the  year  looo  was  generally 
accepted  as  the  time  when  the  world  was  to  come  to  an 
end.  In  the  Bibliolheque  Nationale  in  Paris  there  is  a 
manuscript  containing  the  prophecy  which  had  been 
handed  down  for  many  centuries;  also  the  signs  for  the 
notes  to  which  it  was  to  be  sung,  viz. : 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  COUNTERPOINT  I25 


tii: 


^  I  I  i   I  -f-l  I   i   ?  ff?  [  r^^y  ^  ^  H 


The  text  is: 

The  Judge  will  speak  and  the  earth  shall  tremble  with  awe. 

The  stars  shall  be  destroyed  and  the  glory  of  the  moon  shall  die,  the 
mountains  shall  be  crushed  and  the  world  with  all  in  it  shall  utterly 
perish. 

With  the  opening  of  the  eleventh  century,  such  was 
the  relief  from  this  fear  which  had  been  oppressing  Chris- 
tendom, that  even  the  church  reflected  it  in  such  strange 
rites  as  the  Feast  of  Asses  (January  14th),  which  was  a 
burlesque  of  the  Mass. 

In  this  travesty  of  the  Mass  a  young  girl,  dressed  to 
represent  the  Virgin,  riding  on  an  ass  and  carrying  a 
child  in  her  arms,  was  conducted  to  the  church  door. 
Upon  being  admitted  and  riding  up  the  aisle  to  the  altar, 
the  girl  tethered  the  ass  to  the  railing  and  sat  on  the 
steps  until  the  service  was  finished.  The  Credo,  Gloria, 
etc.,  all  ended  with  a  "hee-haw,"  and  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  service  the  officiating  priest  brayed  three  times, 
and  was  answered  by  the  congregation.  The  mixing  of 
the  vernacular  with  Latin  in  this  service  is  the  first 
instance  of  the  use  of  any  language  but  Latin  in  church 
music. 

This  quasi-symbolical  pantomime  gave  rise  in  time  to 
the  mediaeval  Passion  Plays,  or  Mysteries,  as  they  were 
called.     That  these  travesties  of  the  Mass  took  different 


126  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

forms  in  various  countries  is  very  evident  when  we  remem- 
ber the  description  of  the  "Abbot  of  Unreason, "  in  Scott's 
"Abbot."  In  England,  among  other  absurdities  such  as 
the  "Pope  of  Fools,"  the  "Ball  Dance,"  etc.,  they  also 
had  the  festival  of  the  "Boy  Bishop,"  in  which,  between 
the  sixth  and  twenty-eighth  of  December,  a  boy  was 
made  to  perform  all  the  functions  of  a  bishop. 

It  would  seem  that  all  this  has  but  Kttle  bearing  upon 
the  development  of  music.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  a 
most  potent  factor  in  it,  for  music  was  essentially  and 
exclusively  a  church  property.  By  permitting  the  people 
to  secularize  the  church  rites  at  certain  seasons,  it  was 
inevitable  that  church  music  would  also  become  common 
property  for  a  time,  with  this  difference,  however,  that  the 
common  people  could  carry  the  times  away  with  them, 
and  the  music  would  be  the  only  thing  remaining  as  a 
recollection  of  the  carnival.  Indeed,  the  prevalence  of 
popular  songs  soon  became  such  that  writers  of  church 
music  began  to  use  them  instead  of  their  being  derived 
from  church  music,  as  was  originally  the  case.  This 
continued  to  such  an  extent  that  almost  up  to  1550  a 
mass  was  known  by  the  name  of  the  popular  song  it  was 
based  upon,  as,  for  instance,  the  mass  of  the  "Man  in 
Armour,"  by  Josquin  des  Pres,  and  those  entitled  "Je 
prends  conge  ^'  and  "/e  veuU  cent  mille  ecus.^' 

Now  we  know  that  the  tempus  perfectum  was  par  excel- 
lence 8  and  4  time.  It  was  natural  therefore  that  these 
first  church  tunes  should  have  been  changed  to  dances  in 
the  hands  of  the  common  people.  Even  in  these  dances 
it  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  same  symbolic  significance 


THE   BEGINNING  OF  COUNTERPOINT  127 

appears  to  be  present,  for  the  earliest  form  of  these  dances 
was  the  "round  song,"  or  roundelay,  and  it  was  danced 
in  a  circle. 

Duple  time  did  not  come  into  general  use  until  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century.  About  the  same 
time,  the  organum  (as  it  was  called)  or  system  of  har- 
monization of  Hucbald  was  discarded,  and  Johannes  de 
Muris  and  Philippe  de  Vitry  championed  the  consonant 
quality  of  the  third  and  sixth,  both  major  and  minor. 
The  fifth  was  retained  as  a  consonant,  but  the  fourth  was 
passed  over  in  silence  by  the  French  school  of  writers,  or 
classed  with  the  dissonants.  Successive  fifths  were  pro- 
hibited as  being  too  harshly  dissonant,  but  successive 
fourths  were  necessarily  permitted,  as  it  would  be  an  im- 
possibiHty  to  do  without  them.  Nevertheless,  the  fourth 
was  still  considered  a  dissonance,  and  was  permitted  only 
between  the  upper  parts  of  the  music.  Thus  the  harsh 
consecutive  passages  in  fifths  and  fourths  of  the  organiun 
of  Hucbald  disappeared  in  favour  of  the  softer  progres- 
sions of  thirds  and  sixths. 

In  order  to  make  clear  how  the  new  science  of  counter- 
point came  into  existence,  I  must  again  revert  to  Hucbald.* 

Before  his  time,  all  "recognized"  music  was  a  more  or 

less  melodious  succession  of  tones,  generally  of  the  same 

*  There  is  much  question  as  to  Hucbald 's  organum.  That 
actually  these  dissonances  were  used  even  up  to  1500  is  proved  by- 
Franco  Gafurius  of  Milan,  who  mentions  a  Litany  for  the  Dead 
(De  Profundis)  much  used  at  that  time: 


# 


De    profimdis,  etc. 


128  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

length,  one  syllable  being  sometimes  used  for  many 
notes.  He  discovered  that  a  melody  might  be  simg  by 
several  singers,  each  commencing  at  a  different  pitch 
instead  of  all  singing  the  same  notes  at  the  same  time. 
He  also  laid  down  rules  as  to  how  this  was  to  be  done  to 
produce  the  best  effect.  We  remember  why  he  chose  the 
fourth,  fifth,  and  octave  in  preference  to  the  third  and 
sixth.  He  called  his  system  an  "  organum  "  or  "  diaphony," 
and  to  sing  according  to  his  rules  was  called  to  "organize" 
or  "organate,"  We  must  remember  that  at  that  time 
fourths  and  fifths  were  not  always  indicated  in  the  written 
music;  only  the  melody,  which  was  called  the  principal 
or  subject.  By  studying  the  rules  prescribed  for  the 
organum,  the  singers  could  add  the  proper  intervals  to 
the  melody.  We  must  keep  in  mind,  however,  that 
later  fourths  were  preferred  to  fifths  (being  considered 
less  harsh),  and  that  the  musical  scale  of  the  period  com- 
pelled the  different  voices  to  vary  slightly,  that  is  to  say, 
two  voices  could  not  sing  exactly  the  same  melody  at  the 
interval  of  a  fourth  without  the  use  of  sharps  or  flats; 
therefore  one  voice  continued  on  the  same  note  until  the 
awkward  place  was  passed,  and  then  proceeded  in  fourths 
again  with  the  other  voice  as  before: 


t 


=d= 


i^ 


=fe 


-JS"*- 


On  account  of  the  augmented  fourth  that  would  occur  by  a 
strict  adherence  to  the  melodic  structure  of  the  subject,  the 

following  would  have  been  impossible: 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  COUNTERPOINT  129 

Thus  we  find  the  first  instance  of  the  use  of  thirds,  and 
also  of  oblique  motion  as  opposed  to  the  earlier  inevitable 
parallel  motion  of  the  voices.  This  necessary  freedom  in 
suiging  the  organum  or  diaphony  led  to  the  attempt  to 
sing  two  different  melodies,  one  against  the  other  —  "  note 
against  note,"  or  "point  counter  point,"*  point  or  punct 
being  the  name  for  the  written  note.  There  being  now 
two  distinct  melodies,  both  had  to  be  noted  instead  of 
leaving  it  to  the  singers  to  add  their  parts  extempora- 
neously, according  to  the  rules  of  the  organum,  as  they 
had  done  previously.  Already  earlier  than  this  (in  iioo), 
owing  to  the  tendency  to  discard  consecutive  fourths  and 
fifths,  the  intermovement  of  the  voices,  from  being  parallel 
and  obHque,  became  contrary,  thus  avoiding  the  parallel 
succession  of  intervals.  The  name  "  organum "  was 
dropped  and  the  new  system  became  known  as  tenor 
and  descant,  the  tenor  being  the  principal  or  foundation 
melody,  and  the  descant  or  descants  (for  there  could  be  as 
many  as  there  were  parts  or  voices  to  the  music)  taking 
the  place  of  the  organiun.  The  diflference  between  dis- 
cantus  and  diaphony  was  that  the  latter  consisted  of 
several  parts  or  voices,  which,  however,  were  more  or  less 
exact  reproductions,  at  different  pitch,  of  the  principal  or 
given  melody,  while  the  former  was  composed  of  entirely 
different  melodic  and  rhythmic  material.  This  gave  rise 
to  the  science  of  counterpoint,  which,  as  I  have  said, 
consists  of  the  trick  of  making  a  number  of  voices  sing 
different  melodies  at  the  same  time  without  violating 
certain  given  rules.  The  given  melody  or  "principal" 
*  Counterpoint  is  first  mentioned  by  Muris  (1300). 


I30  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

soon  acquired  the  name  of  cantus  firmus,  and  the  other 
parts  were  each  called  contrapundus*  as  before  they  had 
been  called  tenor  and  descant.  These  names  were  first 
used  by  Gerson,  Chancellor  of  Notre  Dame,  Paris,  about 
1400. 

In  the  meantime  (about  1300-13  7  5),  the  occasional  use 
ot  thirds  and  sixths  in  the  diaphonies  previously  explained 
led  to  an  entirely  different  kind  of  singing,  called  falso 
bordone  or  faux  bourdon  (bordonizare,  "to  drone,"  comes 
from  a  kind  of  pedal  in  organum  that  first  brought  the 
third  into  use) .  This  system,  contrary  to  the  old  organum, 
consisted  of  using  only  thirds  and  sixths  together,  exclud- 
ing the  fourth  and  fifth  entirely,  except  in  the  first 
and  last  bars.  This  innovation  has  been  ascribed  to  the 
Flemish  singers  attached  to  the  Papal  Choir  (about  1377), 
when  Pope  Gregory  XI  returned  from  Avignon  to  Rome. 
In  the  British  Museum,  however,  there  are  manuscripts 
dating  from  the  previous  century,  showing  that  the  faux 
bourdon  had  already  commenced  to  make  its  way  against 
the  old  systems  of  Hucbald  and  Guido.  The  combina- 
tion of  the  faux  bourdon  and  the  remnant  of  the  organum 
gives  us  the  foimdation  for  our  modem  tone  system. 
The  old  rules,  making  plagal  motion  of  the  different 
voices  preferable  to  parallel  motion,  and  contrary  motion 
preferable  to  either,  still  hold  good  in  our  works  on  theory; 
so  also  in  regard  to  the  rules  forbidding  consecutive  fifths 
and  octaves,  leaving  the  question  of  the  fourth  in  doubt. 

To  sum.  up,  we  may  say,  therefore,  that  up  to  the 
sixteenth  century,  all  music  was  composed  of  the  slender 
*  Only  principal  (tenor  or  cantus  firmus)  was  sung  to  words. 


THE   BEGINNING  OF  COUNTERPOINT  1 31 

material  of  thirds,  sixths,  fifths,  and  octaves,  fourths  being 
permitted  only  between  the  voices;  consecutive  successions 
of  fourths,  however,  were  permitted,  a  license  not  allowed 
in  the  use  of  fifths  or  octaves.  This  leads  us  directly 
to  a  consideration  of  the  laws  of  counterpoint  and  fugue, 
laws  that  have  remained  practically  unchanged  up  to  the 
present,  with  the  one  difference  that,  instead  of  being 
restricted  to  the  meagre  material  of  the  so-called  con- 
sonants, the  growing  use  of  what  were  once  called  dis- 
sonant chords,  such  as  the  dominant  seventh,  ninth, 
diminished  seventh,  and  latterly  the  so-called  altered 
chords,  has  brought  new  riches  to  the  art. 

Instead  of  going  at  once  into  a  consideration  of  the 
laws  of  counterpoint,  it  will  be  well  to  take  up  the  develop- 
ment of  the  instrumental  resources  of  the  time.  There 
were  three  distinct  types  of  music:  the  ecclesiastical  . 
type  (which  of  course  predominated)  found  its  expression 
in  melodies  sung  by  church  choirs,  four  or  more  melodies 
being  sometimes  sung  simultaneously,  in  accordance  with 
certain  fixed  rules,  as  I  have  already  explained.  These 
melodies  or  chants  were  often  accompanied  by  the  organ, 
of  which  we  will  speak  later.  The  second  type  was  purely  X 
instnunental,  and  served  as  an  accompaniment  for  the 
dance,  or  consisted  oi  fanfares  (ceremonial  horn  signals),  or 
hunting  signals.  The  third  type  was  that  of  the  so-called  2^ 
trouvees  or  troubadours,  with  their  jongleurs,  and  the 
minnesingers,  and,  later,  the  mastersingers.  All  these 
"minstrels,"  as  we  may  call  them,  accompanied  their 
singing  by  some  instrument,  generally  one  of  the  lute  type 
or  the  psaltery. 


MUSICAL  INSTRUMENTS  — THEIR  fflSTORY 
AND  DEVELOPMENT 

In  church  music,  the  organ  is  perhaps  the  first  instru- 
ment to  be  considered.  In  951,  Elfeg,  the  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester had  built  in  his  cathedral  a  great  organ  which 
had  four  hundred  pipes  and  twenty-six  pairs  of  bellows, 
to  manage  which  seventy  strong  men  were  necessary, 
Wolstan,  in  his  life  of  St,  Swithin,  the  Benedictine 
monk,  gives  an  account  of  the  exhausting  work  required 
to  keep  the  bellows  in  action. 

Two  performers  were  necessary  to  play  this  organ, 

just  as  nowadays  we  play  four-hand  music  on  the  piano. 

The  keys  went  down  with  such  diflSculty  that  the  players 

had  to  use  their  elbows  or  fists  on  each  key;  therefore  it 

is  easy  to  see  that,  at  the  most,  only  four  keys  could  be 

pressed  down  at  the  same  time.    On  the  other  hand, 

each  key  when  pressed  down  or  pushed  back  (for  in  the 

early  organs  the  keyboard  was  perpendicular)  gave  the 

wind  from  the  bellows  access  to  ten  pipes  each,  which 

were  probably  tuned  in  octaves  or,  possibly,  according 

to  the  organum  of  Hucbald,  in  fifths  or  fourths.     This 

particular  organ  had  two  sets  of  keys  (called  manuals), 

one  for  each  player;  there  were  twenty  keys  to  each 

manual,  and  every  key  caused  ten  pipes  to  sound.     The 

compass  of  this  organ  was  restricted  to  ten  notes,  repeated 

132 


MUSICAL  INSTRUMENTS  133 

at  the  distance  of  an  octave,  and,  there  being  four  hun- 
dred pipes,  forty  pipes  were  available  for  each  note.  On 
each  key  was  inscribed  the  name  of  the  note.  As  may 
be  imagined,  the  tone  of  this  instrument  was  such  that  it 
could  be  heard  at  a  great  distance. 

There  were  many  smaller  organs,  as,  for  instance,  the 
one  in  the  monastery  of  Ramsey,  which  had  copper 
pipes.  Pictures  of  others  from  the  twelfth  century  show 
that  even  where  there  were  only  ten  pipes,  the  organ 
had  two  manuals,  needed  two  players,  and  at  least  four 
men  for  the  bellows.  The  great  exertion  required  to  play 
these  instruments  led  to  the  invention  of  what  is  called 
"mixtures."  From  the  moment  fifths  and  fourths  were 
considered  to  sound  better  together  than  the  simple 
notes,  the  pipes  were  so  arranged  that  the  player  did  not 
need  to  press  two  of  the  ponderous  organ  keys  for  this 
combination  of  sounds.  One  key  was  made  to  open  the 
valves  of  the  two  sets  of  pipes,  so  that  each  key,  instead  of 
sounding  one  note,  would,  at  will,  sound  the  open  fifth, 
fourth,  or  octave.  With  the  addition  of  the  third,  thus 
constituting  a  perfect  major  triad,  this  barbarous  habit 
has  come  down  to  our  present  day  almost  unchanged,  for 
by  using  what  is  called  the  "mixture  stop"  of  our  modem 
organs,  each  key  of  the  manual  gives  not  only  the  original 
note,  but  also  its  perfect  major  triad,  several  octaves 
higher. 

Originally  the  organ  was  used  only  to  give  the  right 
intonation  for  the  chanting  of  the  priests.  From  the 
twelfth  century,  small  portable  organs  of  Umited  compass 
were  much  used;  although  the  tone  of  these  instruments 


134  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

was  necessarily  slight,  and,  owing  to  the  shortness  of 
the  pipes,  high  in  pitch,  the  principle  of  the  mechanism 
was  similar  to  that  of  the  larger  instruments.  They  were 
hung  by  means  of  a  strap  passed  over  the  shoulders;  one 
hand  pressed  the  keys  in  front  of  the  pipes  (which  were 
arranged  perpendicularly),  and  the  other  hand  operated 
the  small  bellows  behind  the  pipes.  These  small  instru- 
ments rarely  had  more  than  eight  pipes,  consequently 
they  possessed  only  the  compass  of  an  octave.  With 
slight  variations,  they  were  quite  universally  used  up  to 
the  seventeenth  century.  Organ  pedals  were  invented  in 
Germany  about  1325.  Bernhard,  organist  of  St.  Mark's, 
Venice  (1445-1459),  has  been  credited  with  the  invention 
of  organ  pedals,  but  it  is  probable  that  he  merely  intro- 
duced them  into  Italy. 

As  the  Greek  modes  formed  the  basis  for  the  musical 
system  of  the  church,  so  the  Greek  monochord  is  the 
t3^e  from  which  the  monks  evolved  what  they  called 
the  clavichord.  The  monochord  has  a  movable  bridge, 
therefore  some  time  is  lost  in  adjusting  it  in  order  to 
get  the  different  tones.  To  obviate  this  inconvenience,  a 
nimiber  of  strings  were  placed  side  by  side,  and  a  mechan- 
ism inserted  which,  by  pressing  a  key  (clavis),  would  move 
the  bridge  to  the  point  at  whjch  the  string  must  divide  to 
give  the  note  indicated  by  the  key.  This  made  it  possible 
to  use  one  string  for  several  different  notes,  and  explains 
why  the  clavichord  or  clavicembalo  needed  comparatively 
few  strings.  This  instrument  became  obsolete  toward  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

The    other    species    of   instnmient,    the    harpsichord, 


MUSICAL  INSTRUMENTS  I35 

which  was  invented  about  1400,  and  which  may  be  con- 
sidered as  ha\dng  sprung  from  the  clavichord,  consisted 
of  a  separate  string  for  each  sound;  the  key,  instead  of 
setting  in  action  a  device  for  striking  and  at  the  same 
time  dividing  the  strings,  caused  the  strings  to  be  plucked 
by  quills.  Thus,  in  these  instruments,  not  only  was  an 
entirely  different  quahty  of  tone  produced,  but  the  pitch 
of  a  string  remained  unaltered.  These  instruments  were 
called  bundfrei,  "unbound,"  in  opposition  to  the  clavicem- 
balo, which  was  called  gebunden,  or  "  bound."  The  harpsi- 
chord was  much  more  complicated  than  the  clavichord, 
in  that  the  latter  ceased  to  sound  when  the  key  which 
moved  the  bridge  was  released,  whereas  the  harpsichord 
required  what  is  called  a  "  damper  "  to  stop  the  sound  when 
the  key  came  up;  once  the  string  was  touched  by  the  quill, 
all  command  of  the  tone  by  the  key  was  lost.  To  regulate 
this,  a  device  was  added  to  the  instrument  by  means 
of  which  a  damper  fell  on  the  string  when  the  key  was 
released,  thereby  stopping  the  sound. 

We  have  now  to  consider  the  instrumental  develop- 
ment of  the  Middle  Ages, 

An  instrument  of  the  harpsichord  family  which  has 
significance  in  the  development  of  the  instruments  of  the 
Middle  Ages  is  the  spinet  (from  spina,  "thorn";  it  had 
leather  points  up  to  1500),  first  made  by  Johannes  Spinctus, 
Venice,  1500.  It  was  a  harpsichord  with  a  square  case, 
the  strings  running  diagonally  instead  of  lengthwise. 
When  the  spinet  was  of  very  small  dimensions  it  was 
called  a  virginal;  when  it  was  in  the  shape  of  our  modem 
grand  piano,  it  was,  of  course,  a  harpsichord;  and  when  the 


136  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Strings  and  sounding  board  were  arranged  perpendicularly, 
the  instrument  was  called  a  clavicitherium.  As  early  as 
1500,  then,  four  different  instruments  were  in  general 
use,  the  larger  ones  having  a  compass  of  about  four 
octaves.  The  connecting  Unk  between  the  harpsichord, 
the  clavichord,  and  the  piano,  was  the  dulcimer  or  hack- 
brett,  which  was  a  tavern  instrument.  Pantaleon  Heben- 
streit,  a  dancing  master  and  inventor  of  Leipzig,  in  1705 
added  an  improved  hammer  action,  which  was  first 
applied  to  keyboard  instnmients  by  Cristofori,  an  instru- 
ment maker  at  Florence  (171 1).  His  instrument  was 
called  forte-piano  or  pianoforte,  because  it  would  strike 
loud  or  soft. 

<-'  These  instnmients  all  descended  from  the  ancient  lyre, 
the  only  difference  being  that  instead  of  causing  the 
strings  to  vibrate  by  means  of  a  plectrum  held  in  the  hand, 
the  plectrum  was  set  in  motion  by  the  mechanism  of  the 
claves  or  keys.  The  system  of  fingering  employed  in 
playing  the  harpsichord,  up  to  1700,  did  not  make  use  of 
the  thumb.  J.  S.  Bach,  F,  Couperin,  and  J.  P.  Rameau 
were  the  pioneers  in  this  matter.  The  first  published 
work  on  piano  technique  and  fingering  was  that  by 
C.  P.  E.  Bach  (1753). 

<^  With  the  advent  of  bowed  instruments  the  foimdation 
was  laid  for  the  modern  orchestra,  of  which  they  are 
the  natural  basis.  The  question  of  the  antiquity  of 
the  bowed  instrument  has  often  been  discussed,  with  the 
result  that  the  latter  has  been  definitely  classed  as  essen- 
tially modem,  for  the  reason  that  it  did  not  become 
known  in  Europe  until  about  the  tenth  to  the  twelfth 


MUSICAL  INSTRUMENTS  137 

centuries.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  instrument  is  doubtless 
of  Person  or  Hindu  origin,  and  was  brought  to  the  West 
by  the  Arabs,  who  were  in  Spain  from  the  eighth  to  the 
fifteenth  centuries;  in  fact,  most  of  our  stringed  instru- 
ments, both  the  bowed  and  those  of  the  lyre  type,  we  owe 
to  the  Arabs  —  the  very  name  of  the  lute,  el  otid  ("shell" 
in  Arabic)  became  liuto  in  Italian,  in  German  laute,  and 
in  EngHsh  lute.  There  were  many  varieties  of  these  bowed 
instruments,  and  it  is  thought  that  the  principle  arose 
from  rubbing  one  instrument  with  another.  The  only 
other  known  examples  of  bowed  instruments  of  primitive 
type  are  (i)  the  ravanastron,  an  instnmient  of  the  mono- 
chord  type,  native  to  India,  made  to  vibrate  by  a  kind 
of  bow  with  a  string  stretched  from  end  to  end;  (2)  the 
Welsh  chrotta  (609  A.  D.),  a  primitive  lyre-shaped  instru- 
ment, with  which,  however,  the  use  of  the  bow  seems  to 
have  been  a  much  later  invention.  Mention  should  also 
be  made  of  the  marine  trumpet,  much  in  vogue  from  the 
fourteenth  to  the  sixteenth  centuries;  it  consisted  of  a  long, 
narrow,  resonant  box,  composed  of  three  boards,  over 
which  was  stretched  a  single  string;  other  unchangeable 
strings,  struck  with  the  bow,  served  as  drones.  Only 
the  harmonics  were  played  on  the  marine  trumpet. 

The  principle  of  procuring  the  vibrations  in  stringed 
instruments  by  means  of  a  bow  was,  of  course,  apphed  to 
the  monochord  class  of  keyed  instruments,  and  was  thus 
the  origin  of  the  hurdy-gurdy,  which  consisted  of  a  wheel 
covered  with  resined  leather  and  turned  by  a  crank. 

The  bowed  instruments  were  originally  of  two  types, 
the  first  in  the  form  of  the  lute  or  mandolin;  the  second 


138  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

probably  derived  from  the  Welsh  crwth,  consisting  of  a 
flat,  long  box  strung  with  strings  (called  fidel  from  fides, 
"  string  ").  The  combination  of  these  types,  which  were 
subjected  to  the  most  fantastic  changes  of  shape,  led 
eventually  to  the  modern  violin  family. 

We  know  that  the  highest  plane  of  perfection  in  the 
violin  was  [reached  in  Italy  about  1600.  The  Cremona 
makers,  Amati,  Guamerius,  and  Stradivarius,  made  their 
most  celebrated  instruments  between  1600  and  1750. 

The  violin  bow,  in  its  earliest  form,  was  nothing  more 
than  an  ordinary  bow  with  a  stretched  string;  Corelli 
and  Tartini  used  a  bow  of  the  kind.  The  present  shape 
of  the  bow  is  due  to  Tourte,  a  Paris  maker,  who  experi- 
mented in  conjimction  with  Viotti,  the  celebrated  violinist. 

By  looking  at  the  original  lute  and  the  Arabian  rebeck 
or  Welsh  crwth  (originally  Latin  chorus),  we  can  see  how 
the  modem  violin  received  its  generally  rounded  shape 
from  the  lute,  its  flatness  from  the  rebeck,  the  sides  of 
the  instrument  being  cut  out  in  order  to  give  the  bow 
free  access  to  the  side  strings.  The  name  too,  fidula  or 
vidula,  from  mediaeval  Latin  fides,  "  string,"  became  fiddle 
and  viola,  the  smaller  viola  being  called  violino,  the 
larger,  violoncello  and  viola  da  gamba. 

In  the  Middle  Ages,  the  different  species  of  bowed  in- 
stnmient  numbered  from  fifteen  to  twenty,  and  it  was 
not  until  between  1600  and  1700  that  the  modem  forms  of 
these  instruments  obtained  the  ascendancy. 

Of  the  wind  instruments  it  was  naturally  the  flute  that 
retained  its  antique  form;  the  only  difference  between 
the  modern  instrument  and  the  ancient  one  being  that 


MUSICAL  INSTRUMENTS  1 39 

the  former  is  blown  crosswise,  instead  of  perpendicularly. 
Quantz,  the  celebrated  court  flute  player  to  Frederick  the 
Great  of  Prussia,  was  the  first  to  publish,  in  1750,  a  so- 
called  ''method"  of  playing  the  traversal  (crosswise)  flute. 
With  the  reed  instruments  the  change  in  modern  times 
is  more  striking.  The  original  form  of  the  reed  instruments 
was  of  the  double-reed  variety.  The  oldest  known  men- 
tion of  them  dates  from  650  A.  D.,  when  the  name 
applied  is  calamus  (reed) ;  later  the  names  shalmei  (chalu- 
meau,  "straw7'  from  German  halm)  and  shawm  were 
used.  These  instruments  were  played  by  means  of 
a  bell-shaped  mouthpiece,  the  double  reed  being  fixed 
inside  the  tube.  It  was  not  until  toward  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century  that  the  bell-shaped  mouthpiece  was 
dispensed  with  and  the  reed  brought  directly  to  the  lips, 
thus  giving  the  player  greater  power  of  expression.  The 
oboe  is  a  representative  type  of  the  higher  pitched  double- 
reed  instruments.  In  its  present  shape  it  is  about  two 
hundred  years  old.  As  the  deeper  toned  instnmients 
were  necessarily  very  long,  six  to  eight  and  even  ten  feet, 
an  assistant  had  to  walk  before  the  performer,  holding  the 
tube  on  his  shoulder.  This  inconvenience  led  to  bending 
the  tube  back  on  itself,  making  it  look  somewhat  hke  a 
bundle  of  sticks,  hence  the  word  faggot;  although  it  is 
commonly  known  in  this  country  by  the  French  name, 
bassoon.  This  manner  of  arranging  the  instrument  dates 
from  about  the  year  1550.  The  clarinet  is  an  essen- 
tially modern  instrument,  the  single  beating  reed  and  cyl- 
indrical tube  coming  into  use  about  1700,  the  invention 
of  a  German  named  Denner,  who  lived  at  Nuremberg. 


I40  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

All  the  brass  instruments  of  the  Middle  Ages  seem 
to  have  been  very  short,  therefore  high  in  pitch.  We 
remember  that  the  Romans  had  trumpets  (chiefly  used 
in  signalling)  called  buccina,  and  we  may  assume  that 
the  whole  modern  family  of  brass  instruments  has 
descended  from  this  primitive  type.  As  late  as  1500,  the 
hunting  horn  consisted  of  but  one  loop  which  passed 
over  the  shoulder  and  around  the  body  of  the  player. 
A  horn  of  from  six  to  seven  feet  in  length  was  first 
used  about  1650;  and  we  know  that,  owing  to  the  small- 
ness  of  the  instruments  and  their  consequent  high  pitch 
in  those  days,  many  of  Bach's  scores  contain  parts  abso- 
lutely impracticable  for  our  modern  brass  instruments. 
The  division  of  these  instruments  into  classes,  such  as 
trumpets,  horns,  trombones,  etc.,  is  due  to  the  differences 
in  shape,  which  in  turn  produce  tones  of  different  quality. 
The  large  bore  of  the  trombone  gives  great  volume  to  the 
tone,  the  small  bore  of  the  trumpet  great  brilliancy,  the 
medium  bore  of  the  horn  veils  the  brilliancy  on  one  hand 
and  lightens  the  thickness  of  tone  on  the  other. 

The  horn,  called  cor  de  chasse,  was  first  used  in  the  orches- 
tra in  1664,  in  one  of  Lully's  operas,  but  its  technique 
(stopped  tones  and  crooks)  was  only  properly  understood 
about  1750;  the  present-day  valve  horn  did  not  come  into 
general  use  until  within  the  last  half  century.  Fifty  years 
before  the  principle  had  been  applied  to  the  horn  the 
trimipet  had  crooks  and  slides,  a  mechanism  which,  in 
the  trumpet,  is  still  retained  in  England,  pointing  to  the 
fact  that  the  trombone  is,  after  all,  nothing  but  a  very 
large  kind  of  trvmipet. 


XI 

FOLK  SONG  AND  ITS  RELATION  TO 
NATIONALISM  IN  MUSIC 

In  order  to  understand  as  well  as  to  feel  music,  we  must 
reduce  it  to  its  primary  elements,  and  these  are  to  be 
foimd  in  folk  song,  or,  to  go  further  back,  in  its  prede- 
cessor, the  chant  of  the  savages. 

Folk  music  may  be  likened  to  a  twig  which  has  fallen 
into  a  salt  mine,  to  borrow  an  expression  from  Taine; 
every  year  adds  fresh  jewels  to  the  crystals  that  form 
on  it  until  at  last  the  only  resemblance  to  the  original 
is  in  the  general  contour.  We  know  that  the  nucleus  of 
melody  lies  in  one  note,  just  as  the  origin  of  language 
is  to  be  sought  for  in  the  word.  Therefore  folk  music 
proper  must  be  separated  from  what  may  be  called  bar- 
baric^ music,  the  most  primitive  type  of  the  latter  being 
the  "one-note"  strain  from  whicn  spring  the  melodies 
of  the  people.  This  one-note  form  passes  through  many 
rhythmical  changes  before  song  becomes  developed  to  the 
extent  of  adding  several  notes  to  its  means  of  expres- 
sion. The  next  development  of  savage  chanting  (which 
is  the  precursor  of  folk  song)  may  be  traced  back  to  its 
two  elements,  one  of  which  was  a  mere  savage  howl,  and 
the  other,  that  raising  of  the  voice  imder  stress  of  strong 
emotion  which  still  constitutes  one  of  our  principal  means 
of  expression. 

X4X 


142  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Thus,  in  this  barbaric  music  we  invariably  find  three 
principles:  i,  ihythm;  2,  the  howl  or  descending  scale  of 
undefined  intervals;  and  3,  the  emotional  raising  of  the 
voice.  The  rhythm,  which  characterizes  the  most  primi- 
tive form  of  song  or  chant,  consists  of  the  incessant  repe- 
tition of  a  very  small  group  of  rhythmic  sounds.  This 
incessant  recurrence  of  one  idea  is  characteristic^of  prim- 
itive, weak,  or  insane  natures.  T^e  second  principle, 
which  invariably  includes  the  first  (pointing  to  a  slightly 
more  advanced  state  of  development),  is  met  with  in  many 
folk  songs  of  even  modern  times.  The  third  principle  is 
one  which  indicates  the  transition  stage  from  primitive 
or  barbaric  music  to  folk  music. 

To  the  primitive  savage  mind,  the  smallest  rhythmic 
phrase  is  a  wonderful  invention,  therefore  it  is  repeated 
incessantly.  Add  to  that  a  certain  joy  in  mere  sound,  and 
we  have  the  howl,  which  certainly  follows  the  sequence 
of  nature,  for  a  thunder  clap,  or  the  phenomenon  of 
echo,  is  its  prototype,  being  a  loud  explosion  followed  by 
a  more  or  less  regula%  sequence  of  minor  reverberations. 
When  the  accent  of  passion  is  added  to  these  two  prin- 
ciples—  will  and  nature  —  we  have  laid  the  aesthetic 
foundation  for  all  that  we  call  music*  The  example  of 
a  loud  tone  with  gradually  ascending  inflections  has  only 
been  found  in  the  most  perverted  types  of  humanity; 
for  instance,  an  English  writer  quaintly  alludes  to  the 
songs  of  the  Polynesian  cannibals  as  consisting  of  "grue- 
somely  suggestive  passages  of  rising  quarter-tones  simg 

*  The  antiquity  of  any  melody  (or  its  primitiveness)  may  be  estab- 
lished according  to  its  rhythmic  and  melodic  or  human  attributes. 


FOLK  SONG 


143 


gloatingly  before  their  living  captives  who  are  soon  to  be 
devoured." 

Now  traces  of  these  three  elements  are  to  be  found  in 
every  folk  song  known,  and  we  may  even  trace  their 
influence  in  modern  music,  the  lowest  or  most  primitive 
being,  as  I  have  said,  the  "oife-note"  type,  the  next  what 
I  have  called  the  "howl"  type,  the  third  the  highest  or 
"emotional"  type. 

Specimens  of    the    first    type,   chants  such  as    these 


?=,  are  to  be  heard  in  every  part  of  the 


globe,   the  rhythmic  figure  being  necessarily  short  and 
repeated  incessantly. 

The  next  step  was  a  tremendous  advance,  and  we  find 
its  influence  permeating  all  music.  The  most  primitive 
specimens  of  this  type  we  find  among  the  Jute  Indians 

:,  a  mixture  of  one  and  two. 


The  same  is  to  be  foimd  in  Australia,  slightly  modified: 


The  Caribs  have  the  same  song 


f 


We  find 


it  again  in  Hungary,  although  in  a  still  more  modified 
form,  thus: 


144  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

And  last  of  all  we  meet  with,it  in  its  primitive  state  in  the 
folk  song  used  by  Bizet  in  "  Carmen."  We  can  even  see 
traces  of  it  in  the  quasi-folk  song  of  the  present  century: 


The  third  element  of  folk  song  shows  again  a  great 
advance,  for  instead  of  the  mere  howl  of  pleasure  or  pain, 
we  have  a  more  or  less  exactly  graded  expression  of 
feeling.  In  speaking  of  impassioned  speech  I  explained 
the  relative  values  of  the  inflections  of  the  voice,  how  the 
upward  skip  of  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  octave  indicates  the 
intensity  of  the  emotion  causing  the  cry.  When  this  ele- 
ment is  brought  into  music,  it  gives  a  vitaHty  not  before 
possessed,  for  by  this  it  becomes  speech.  When  in  such 
music  this  inflection  rhymes  with  the  words,  that  is  to 
say,  when  the  speech  finds  its  emotional  reflection  in  the 
music,  we  have  reached  the  highest  development  of  folk 
song.  In  its  best  state,  this  is  immeasurably  superior 
to  much  of  our  "made"  music,  only  too  often  false  in 
rhythm,  feeling,  and  declamation. 

Among  the  different  nations,  these  three  characteristics 
often  become  obscured  by  national  idiosyncracies.  Much 
of  the  Chinese  music,  the  "  Hymn  to  the  Ancestors,"  for 
instance,  seemingly  covers  a  number  of  notes,  whereas, 
in  fact,  it  belongs  to  the  one-note  type.  We  find  that 
their  melodies  almost  invariably  return  to  the  same  note, 
the  intervening  sounds  being  more  or  less  merely  variations 
above  and  below  the  pitch  of  the  principal  sound.  For 
example: 


FOLK  SONG 


145 


Hungarian  folk  music  has  been  much  distorted  by  the 
oriental  element,  as  represented  by  the  zingari  or  gypsies. 
The  Himgarian  type  of  folk  music  is  one  of  the  highest, 
and  is  extremely  severe  in  its  contours,  as  shown  in  the 
following: 


f 


W 


3aiz 


:P==^ig 


The  gypsy  element  as  copied  by  Liszt  has  obscured  the 
folk  melodies  by  innumerable  arabesques  and  ornaments 
of  all  sorts,  often  covering  even  a  "one-note"  t)^e  of 
melody  until  it  seems  like  a  complicated  design. 

This  elaboration  of  detail  and  the  addition  of  passing 
and  ornamental  notes  to  every  melody  is  distinctly  an 
oriental  trait,  which  finds  vent  not  only  in  music  but  also 
in  architecture,  designing,  carving,  etc.  It  is  considered 
by  many  an  element  of  weakness,  seeking  to  cover  a 
poverty  of  thought  by  rich  vestments.  And  yet,  to  my 
mind,  nothing  can  be  more  misleading.  In  spite  of  Sir 
Hubert  Parry  and  other  writers,  I  cannot  think  that  the 
Moors  in  Spain,  for  instance,  covered  poverty  of  thought 
beneath  superficial  ingenuity  of  design.  The  Alhambra 
outdoes   in    "passage   work,"    in   virtuoso    arabesques, 


146  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

all  that  an  army  of  Liszts  could  do  in  piano  literature; 
and  yet  the  Arabs  were  the  saviours  of  science,  and  pro- 
moted the  greatest  learning  and  depth  of  thought  known 
in  Europe  in  their  time.  As  for  Liszt,  there  is  such  an 
astounding  wealth  of  poetry  and  deep  feeling  beneath 
the  somewhat  "flashy,"  bombastic  trick  of  speech  he 
inherited,  that  the  true  lover  of  music  can  no  more  allow 
his  feeUngs  to  be  led  astray  by  such  externals  than  one 
would  judge  a  man's  mind  by  the  cut  of  his  coat  or  the 
hat  he  wears. 

Thus  we  see  the  essence  of  folk  song  is  comprised  in 
the  three  elements  mentioned,  and  its  aesthetic  value  may 
be  determined  by  the  manner  in  which  these  elements 
are  combined  and  their  relative  preponderance. 

One  point  must  be  very  distinctly  understood,  namely, 
that  what  we  call  harmonization  of  a  me^dy  cannot  be 
admitted  as  forming  any  part  of  folk  song.  Folk  melodies 
are,  without  exception,  homophonous.  This  being  the 
case,  perhaps  my  statement  that  the  vital  principle  of 
folk  music  in  its  best  state  has  nothing  in  common  with 
nationalism  (considered  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word), 
will  be  better  understood.  And  this  will  be  the  proof 
that  nationalism,  so-called,  is  merely  an  extraneous  thing 
that  has  no  part  in  pure  art.  For  if  we  take  any  melody, 
even  of  the  most  pronounced  national  type,  and  merely 
eliminate  the  characteristic  turns,  aflfectations,  or  manner- 
isms, the  theme  becomes  simply  music,  and  retains  no 
touch  of  nationaUty.  We  may  even  go  further;  for  if  we 
retain  the  characteristic  marmerisms  of  dress,  we  may 
harmonize  a  folk  song  in  such  a  manner  that  it  will  belie 


FOLK  SONG  147 

its  origin;  and  by  means  of  this  powerful  factor  (an  essen- 
tially modem  invention)  we  may  even  transform  a  Scotch 
song,  with  all  its  "snap"  and  character,  into  a  Chinese 
song,  or  give  it  an  Arabian  flavour.  This,  to  be  sure,  is 
possible  only  to  a  limited  degree;  enough,  however,  to 
prove  to  us  the  power  of  harmony;  and  harmony,  as  I 
have  said,  has  no  part  in  folk  song. 

To  define  the  role  of  harmony  in  music  is  no  easy  matter. 
Just  as^peech  has  its  shadow  languages,  gesture  and  ex- 
pression; just  as  man  is  a  duality  of  idealism  and  materi- 
alism; just  as  music  itself  is  a  imion  of  the  emotional  and 
the  intellectual,  so  harmony  is  the  shadow  language  of  mel- 
ody; and  just  as  in  speech  this  shadow  language  over- 
whelms the  spoken  word,  so  in  music  harmony  controls  the 
melody.  For  example :  Imagine  the  words  "  I  will  kill  you  " 
being  said  in  a  jesting  tone  of  voice  and  with  a  pleasant 
expression  of  the  face;  the  import  of  the  words  would 
be  lost  in  their  expression;  the  mere  words  would  mean 
nothing  to  us  in  comparison  with  the  expression  that 
accompanied  them. 

Take  away  the  harmonic  structure  upon  which  Wagner 
built  his  operas  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  form  a  con- 
ception of  the  marvellous  potency  of  his  music.  Melody, 
therefore,  may  be  classed  as  the  gift  of  folk  song  to 
music;  and  harmony  is  its  shadow  language.  When  these 
two  powers,  melody  and  harmony,  supplement  each  other, 
when  one  completes  the  thought  of  the  other,  then,  pro- 
vided the  thought  be  a  noble  one,  the  effect  will  be  over- 
whelmingly convincing,  and  we  have  great  music.  The 
contrary  results  when  one  contradicts  the  other,  and  that 


148  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

is  only  too  often  the  case;  for  we  hear  the  mildest  waltzes 
dressed  up  in  tragic  and  dramatic  chords,  which,  like 
Bottom,  "roar  as  gently  as  any  sucking  dove." 

In  discussing  the  origin  of  speech,  mention  was  made 
of  those  shadow  languages  which  accompany  all  our 
spoken  words,  namely,  the  languages  of  expression  and 
gesture.  These  were  surely  the  very  first  auxiliaries  of 
uttered  speech,  and  in  the  same  way  we  find  that  they 
constitute  the  first  sign  of  advance  in  primitive  melody. 
Savages  utter  the  same  thought  over  and  over  again, 
evidently  groping  after  that  semblance  of  Nirvana  (or 
perhaps  it  may  be  better  described  as  "hypnotic  exalta- 
tion") which  the  incessant  repetition  of  that  one  thought, 
accompanied  by  its  vibrating  shadow,  sound,  would  natu- 
rally occasion. 

It  was  also  stated  that  the  relative  antiquity  or  primi- 
tivity  of  a  melody  is  invariably  to  be  discovered  by  its 
degree  of  relationship  to  the  original  t)^,  one  note,  one 
rhythm,  the  emotional,  the  savage  howl,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  high  note  followed  by  a  gradual  descent.  To 
confirm  this  theory  of  the  origin  of  folk  song,  we  need 
only  look  at  the  aboriginal  chants  of  widely  separated 
peoples  to  find  that  the  oldest  songs  all  resemble  one 
another,  despite  the  fact  that  they  originated  in  widely 
separated  localities. 

Now  the  difference  between  this  primitive  music  and 
that  which  we  call  folk  song  is  that  the  latter  is  charac- 
terized by  a  feeling  for  design,  in  the  broadest  sense  of 
the  word,  entirely  lacking  in  the  former.  For  we  find 
that  although  folk  song  is  composed  of  the  same  material 


FOLK  SONG  149 

as  savage  music,  the  material  is  arranged  coherently  into 
sentences  instead  of  remaining  the  mere  exclamation  of 
passion  or  a  ner/e  exciting  reiteration  of  unchanging 
rhythms  and  vibrations,  as  is  the  case  in  the  music  of  the 
savage. 

Before  proceeding  further,  I  wish  to  draw  the  line 
which  separates  savage  from  folk  music  very  plainly. 

We  know  that  the  first  stage  in  savage  music  is  that  of 
one  note.  Gradually  a  tone  above  the  original  is  added 
on  accoimt  of  the  savage  being  imable  to  intone  cor- 
rectly; through  stress  of  emotion  the  fifth  and  octave 
come  into  the  chant;  the  sixth,  being  the  note  above 
the  fifth,  is  added  later,  as  is  the  third,  the  note  above 
the  second.  Thus  is  formed  the  pentatonic  scale  as  it  is 
found  all  over  the  world,  and  it  is  clear,  therefore,  that 
the  development  of  the  scale  is  due  to  emotional  influences. 

The  development  of  rhythm  may  be  traced  to  the 
words  sung  or  declaimed,  and  the  development  of  design 
or  form  to  the  dance.  In  the  following,  from  Brazil, 
we  find  a  savage  chant  in  almost  its  primitive  state: 


W^~\r\~rrzrzrri    r  iZr:=F=P=?: 


The  next  example,  also  from  Brazil,  is  somewhat  better, 
but  still  formless  and  unemotional. 


mi 


=t^    I         t=t: 


Let  this  be  danced  to,  however,  and  the  change  is  very 
marked,  for  immediately  form,  regularity,  and  design  are 


noticeable:  F^  T '^^^rtT  '     T'lf 


ISO 


CRITICAL  AND   fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 


On  the  other  hand,  the  emotional  element  marks  another 
very  decided  change,  namely,  by  placing  more  sounds 
at  the  command  of  the  singer,  and  also  by  introducing 
words,  which  necessarily  invest  the  song  with  the  rhythm 
of  language. 

Thus  the  emotional  and  declamatory  elements  heighten 
the  powers  of  expression  by  the  greater  range  given  to 
the  voice,  and  add  the  poignancy  and  rhythm  of  speech 
to  song.  On  the  other  hand,  the  dance  gives  regularity 
to  the  rhythmic  and  emotional  sequences. 

In  the  following  examples  we  can  see  more  clearly  the 
elements  of  folk  song  as  they  exist  in  savage  music: 


Three  or  four  note  (simple) 
South  America 


Nubia 


Emotional  (simple) 
Samoa 


FETfF^'^ 


Emotional  and  Composite 
Hudson's  Bay 


i^ 


i 


Soudan 


& 


Howl  and  Emotion 

^  Chromatic 


3^^ 


FOLK  SONG 


151 


Dance.     Brazil 


i 


wjU'iii"iiiiiii'''lU'Ui^ 


Simple  Dance 


i^^^p 


^w^^^ 


S5*5 


The  fact  that  so  many  nations  have  the  pentatonic  or 
five-note  scale  (the  Chinese,  Basque,  Scotch,  Hindu,  etc.), 
would  seem  to  point  to  a  necessary  similarity  of  their 
music.  This,  however,  is  not  the  case.  In  tracing  the 
differences  we  shall  find  that  true  folk  song  has  but  few 
marked  national  traits,  it  is  something  which  comes  from 
the  heart;  whereas  nationalism  in  music  is  an  outward 
garment  which  is  a  result  of  certain  habits  of  thought, 
a  mannerism  of  language  so  to  speak.  If  we  look  at  the 
music  of  different  nations  we  find  certain  character- 
istics; divest  the  music  of  these  same  characteristics 
and  we  find  that  the  figure  upon  which  this  garment  of 
nationahsm  has  been  placed  is  much  the  same  the  world 
over,  and  that  its  relationship  to  the  universal  language 
of  savage  music  is  very  marked.  Carmen's  song,  divested 
of  the  mixture  of  triplets  and  dual  rhythms  (Spanish  or 
Moorish)  is  akin  to  the  "howl." 
Nationahsm  may  be  divided  into  six  different  classes: 
First  we  have  what  may  be  broadly  termed  "oriental- 
ism," which  includes  the  Hindu,  Moorish,  Siamese,  and 
Gypsy,  the  latter  embracing  most  of  southeastern  European 
(Roumania,  etc.)  types.     Liszt's  "Second  Rhapsody," 


152  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

opening  section,  divested  of  orientalism  or  gypsy  charac- 
teristics, is  merely  of  the  savage  three-note  type. 

Our  second  division  may  be  termed  the  style  of  reiter- 
ation, and  is  to  be  found  in  Russia  and  northern  Europe. 

The  third  consists  of  the  mannerism  known  as  the 
"Scotch  snap,"  and  is  a  rhythmic  device  which  probably 
originated  in  that  trick  of  jumping  from  one  register  of 
the  voice  to  another,  which  has  always  had  a  fascination 
for  people  of  simple  natures.  The  Swiss  70^^/  is  the  best 
illustration  of  this  in  a  very  exaggerated  form. 

The  fourth  consists  of  a  seemingly  capricious  inter- 
mixture of  dual  and  triple  rhythm,  and  is  especially 
noticeable  in  Spanish  and  Portuguese  music  as  well  as 
in  that  of  their  South  American  descendants.  This  dis- 
tinction, however,  may  be  traced  directly  back  to  the 
Moors.  For  in  their  wonderful  designs  we  continually 
see  the  curved  line  woven  in  with  the  straight,  the  circle 
with  the  square,  the  tempus  perfectum  with  the  spondee. 
This  would  bring  this  characteristic  directly  imder  the 
head  of  orientalism  or  ornamental  development.  Yet 
the  peculiarity  is  so  marked  that  it  seems  to  call  for 
separate  consideration. 

The  fifth  type,  like  the  fourth,  is  open  to  the  objection 
that  it  is  merely  a  phase  of  the  oriental  type.  It  consists 
of  the  incessant  use  of  the  augmented  second  and  dimin- 
ished third,  a  distinctively  Arabian  characteristic,  and  is 
to  be  found  in  Egypt,  also,  strange  to  say,  occasionally 
among  our  own  North  American  Indians.  This,  however, 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  considering  that  we  know  nothing 
of  their  ancestry.    Only  now  and  then  on  that  broad  sea 


POLK  SONG 


IS3 


of  mystery  do  we  see  a  half  submerged  rock,  which  gives 
rise  to  all  sorts  of  conjectures;  for  example,  the  custom 
of  the  Jutes  to  wear  green  robes  and  use  fans  in  certain 
dances,  the  finding  in  the  heart  of  America  of  such  an 
Arab  tune  as  this: 


4=te^::ifca»-ft*-^>- 


«^ 


or  such  a  Russian  tune  as  this: 


The  last  type  of  nationalism  in  folk  song  is  almost 
a  negative  quality,  its  distinguishing  mark  being  mere 
simplicity,  a  simplicity  which  is  affected,  or  possibly 
assimilated,  by  the  writer  of  such  a  song;  for  German 
folk  song  proper  is  a  made  thing,  springing  not  from  the 
people,  but  from  the  many  composers,  both  ancient  and 
modem,  who  have  tried  their  hands  in  that  direction. 

While  this  of  course  takes  nationalism  out  of  the  com- 
position of  German  folk  song  so-called,  the  latter  has 
undoubtedly  gained  immensely  by  it;  for  by  thus  divest- 
ing music  of  all  its  national  mannerisms,  it  has  left  the 
thought  itself  untroubled  by  quirks  and  turns  and  a  re- 
stricted musical  scale;  it  has  allowed  this  thought  to  shine 
out  in  all  its  own  essential  beauty,  and  thus,  in  this  so- 
called  German  folk  song,  the  greatest  effects  of  poignancy 
are  often  reached  through  absolute  simplicity  and  direct- 
ness. 

Now  let  us  take  six  folk  songs  and  trace  first  their 
national  characteristics,  and  after  that  their  scheme  of 


154 


CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 


design,  for  it  is  by  the  latter  that  the  vital  principle,  so 
to  speak,  of  a  melody  is  to  be  recognized,  all  else  being 
merely  external,  costimies  of  the  different  coimtries  in 
which  they  were  bom.  And  we  shall  see  that  a  melody 
or  thought  born  among  one  people  will  change  its  costume 
when  it  migrates  to  another  country. 
Arab  Song 


'■^ 


sii 


^^h! 


^ 


S 


^r- 


^ 


^g 


^^: 


r^ 


±-jL\i, 


•^ 


-^•s^ 


ferf=f^ 


--fcg: 


^g^^S 


i>ici 


f-rr-ff=^ 


-^ 


^- 


i=jt 


1^ 


^-•- 


^^ 


g 


g 


Scheme 


fcrt: 


-«-•-■<• 


^ 


Si 


M 


Itlt 


^^ 


FOLK  SONG 


IS5 


Russia — Reiteration 


~,'=^ a — I*     "l      ^ 


¥—\ liiJ — r — ! — ^ 


•— # 


rte;=^ 


etc. 


Red  Sarafan 


tt 


iijrrTP^^iwfrrf^'-^ 


!»»: 


g»^^-r^-«nN^M?^^"r^^^^ 


Scotch 


g 


gS5^-|-f!-iM-^ 


S^S^a 


f#=»I± 


ittzu* 


d2: 


^ 


^H^ 


=*=^^ 


*===#= -p 


^rnj^'-g 


*i  ^  * 


in»-f-^      r1 


^ 


^ 


^BB 


Ff*^=F 


t=3t:i: 


I   I   IJ^-^     [^ 


i 


gb-rf-W-trf  •  J  •  H 


atzjt 


^'■iJ-.-J-' 


I 


156  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 


* 


.p     f   \p- 


^m 


^-.z± 


T»-^» 


g 


mm 


?E=fq^ 


5 


3  "I     I    II     t 


a 


l=5^w^ 


?=i^ 


S 


^ 


P=i* 


-•-#■ 


g^^^^^^^^ 


Irish — Emotional  in  character,  with  greater  perfection  in  design 


i 


iP^ 


S?S=3 


sza 


95EE3 


«: 


1^ 


? 


:F=t 


^^^^^P 


j3t 


o"^*-* 


.  I  I*  •     »       » 


ffi 


s 


f?E^*3EEF3Eg 


i 


-*-#- 


r-f-y^r? 


^ 


i?  r^ 


=^HiF|^ 


-— «— * — h 


*=? 


5-TT 


FOLK  SONG 


157 


(Note  aiigmented  intervals) 


p^=^--^^^-Mr^^^^ 


The  characteristics  of  German  and  English  folk  songs 
may  be  observed  in  the  familiar  airs  of  these  nations. 

The  epitome  of  folk  song,  divested  of  nationalism,  is 
shown  in  the  following: 


^ 


I 


± 


<S2- 


i 


XII 

THE  TROUBADOURS,  MINNESINGERS  AND 
MASTERSINGERS 

Although  wandering  minstrels  or  bards  have  existed 
since  the  world  began,  and  although  the  poetry  they  have 
left  is  often  suggestive,  the  music  to  which  the  words 
were  sung  is  but  little  known. 

About  700-800  A.  D.,  when  all  Europe  was  in  a  state 
of  dense  ignorance  and  mental  degradation,  the  Arabs 
were  the  embodiment  of  culture  and  science,  and  the 
Arab  empire  extended  at  that  time  over  India,  Persia, 
Arabia,  Egypt  (including  Algeria  and  Barbary),  Portu- 
gal, and  the  Spanish  cahphates,  Andalusia,  Granada,  etc. 
The  descriptions  of  the  splendour  at  the  courts  of  the 
Eastern  caUphs  at  Bagdad  seem  almost  incredible. 

For  instance,  the  Cahph  Mahdi  is  said  to  have  expended 
six  miUions  of  dinars  of  gold  in  a  single  pilgrimage  to 
Mecca.  His  grandson,  Almamon,  gave  in  alms,  on  one 
single  occasion,  two  and  a  half  milUons  of  gold  pieces, 
and  the  rooms  in  his  palace  at  Bagdad  were  hung  with 
thirty-eight  thousand  pieces  of  tapestry,  over  twelve 
thousand  of  which  were  of  silk  embroidered  with  gold. 
The  floor  carpets  were  more  than  twenty  thousand  in 
number,  and  the  Greek  ambassador  was  shown  a  hundred 
lions,  each  with  his  keeper,  as  a  sign  of  the  king's  royalty, 
as  well  as  a  wonderful  tree  of  gold  and  silver,  spreading 
into  eighteen  large,  leafy  branches,  on  which  were  many 

158 


THE  TROUBADOURS  159 

birds  made  of  the  same  precious  metals.  By  some 
mechanical  means,  the  birds  sang  and  the  leaves  trembled. 
Naturally  such  a  court,  particularly  imder  the  reign  of 
Haroun-al  Raschid  (the  Just),  who  succeeded  Almamon, 
would  attract  the  most  celebrated  of  those  Arabian  min- 
strels, such  as  Zobeir,  Ibrahim  of  Mossoul,  and  many 
others  who  figure  in  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  real  per- 
sons and  celebrated  singers  of  their  times.  We  read 
of  one  of  them,  Serjab,  who,  by  court  jealousy  and  in- 
trigues, was  forced  to  leave  Bagdad,  and  found  his  way 
to  the  Western  caliphates,  finally  reaching  Cordova  in 
Spain,  where  the  Caliph  Abdalrahman's  court  vied  with 
that  of  Bagdad  in  luxury.  Concerning  this  we  read  in 
Gibbon  that  in  his  palace  of  Zehra  the  audience  hall  was 
incrusted  with  gold  and  pearls,  and  that  the  caliph  was 
attended  by  twelve  thousand  horsemen  whose  belts  and 
scimiters  were  studded  with  gold. 

We  know  that  the  Arabian  influence  on  the  European 
arts  came  to  us  by  the  way  of  Spain,  and  although  we  can 
see  traces  of  it  very  plainly  in  the  Spanish  music  of  to-day, 
the  interim  of  a  thousand  years  has  softened  its  charac- 
teristics very  much.  On  the  other  hand,  the  much  more 
pronounced  Arabian  characteristics  of  Hungarian  music 
are  better  understood  when  we  recall  that  the  Saracens 
were  at  the  gates  of  Budapesth  as  late  as  1400.  That  the 
European  troubadours  should  have  adopted  the  Moorish 
el  oiid  and  called  it  "  lute  "  is  therefore  but  natural.  And 
in  all  the  earlier  songs  of  the  troubadours  we_shall  find 
manyTraces  of  the  same  influence ;  for  their  albas  or  aubades 
(morning  songs)    came   from   the   Arabic,   as   did   their 


i6o 


CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 


Serenas  or  serenades  (evening  songs),  planhs  (complaints), 
and  coblas  (couplets).  The  troubadours  themselves  were 
so  called  from  trobar,  meaning  to  invent. 

In  the  works  of  Fauriel  and  St.  Polaye,  and  many  others, 
may  be  found  accounts  of  the  origin  of  the  Proven9al 
literature,  including,  of  course,  a  description  of  the  trouba- 
dours. It  is  generally  admitted  that  Provencal  poetry 
has  no  connection  with  Latin,  the  origin  of  this  new  poetry 
being  very  plausibly  ascribed  to  a  gypsy-Uke  class  of 
people  mentioned  by  the  Latin  chroniclers  of  the  Middle 
Ages  as  joculares  or  jocidatores.  They  were  called  joglars 
in  Provencal,  jouglers  or  jougleors  in  French,  and  our 
word  "  juggler  "  comes  from  the  same  source.  What  that 
source  originally  was  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that 
they  brought  many  of  the  Arab  forms  of  dance  and 
poetry  into  Christian  Europe.  For  instance,  two  forms 
of  Provencal  poetry  are  the  counterpart  of  the  Arabian 
cosidas  or  long  poem,  all  on  one  rhyme;  and  the  maouchahs 
or  short  poem,  also  rhymed.  The  saraband,  or  Saracen 
dance,  and  later  the  morris  dance  (Moresco  or  Fandango) 
or  Moorish  dance,  seem  to  point  to  the  same  origin.  In 
order  to  make  it  clearer  I  will  quote  an  Arabian  song  from 
a  manuscript  in  the  British  Museima,  and  place  beside  it 
one  by  the  troubadour  Capdeuil. 
Arabian  Melody 


i-^.^tttJ=^==^=^ 


S2: 


ig 


^ 


r 


-+-- 

P 


j^^ 


THE  TROUBADOURS 

\      3 


i6i 


u 


-<s- 


--p^ 


P" 


i-Jk 


"7^    ^, 


-^ 


3tzt 


^ 


:|tt 


m^ 


hj-  J 


3^^ 


^ 


^5^ 


t^Titid 


Z\     ¥   gjizig 


§5 


i 


95 


T P 


'.  g>  \     Sr 


S^ 


t 


fei 


^EJ 


y&-g- 


^EEB± 


^-  g- 


I^ZZlt 


I 
I 


l62  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Pons  de  Capdeuil 


m 


i 


f?      iv      g-ajg — gJ— ^- 


€ 


^5-3?2- 


Us    gays    CO    -    nortz  -  ne    fai    gay  -  a  -  men    far 


i 


Si 


m 


SE^ 


-S^f-8^ 


gay  -  a  chan-so        qui   fag    e    gai     sem 


bian    gai 


I 


dez  -  i 


rier      jo  -  jos     gay      al   -  le       grar 


The  troubadours  must  not  be  confounded  with  the 
jongleurs  (more  commonly  written  y^wg/eMr^).  The  latter, 
wandering,  mendicant  musicians,  ready  to  play  the  lute, 
sing,  dance,  or  "juggle,"  were  welcomed  as  merry-makers 
at  all  rich  houses,  and  it  soon  became  a  custom  for  rich 
nobles  to  have  a  number  of  them  at  their  courts.  The 
troubadour  was  a  very  different  person,  generally  a  noble 
who  wrote  poems,  set  them  to  music,  and  employed  jowg- 
leurs  to  sing  and  play  them.  In  the  South  these  songs 
were  generally  of  an  amorous  nature,  while  in  the  North 
they  took  the  form  of  chansons  de  geste,  long  poems  re- 
counting the  feats  in  the  life  and  battles  of  some  hero,. 
su€k»«s^Roland  (whose  song  was  chanted  by  the  troops 
of  William  the  Conqueror),  or.  Charles  Martel. 

And  so  the  foundations  for  many  forms  of  modem 
music  were  laid  by  the  troubadours,  for  the  chanson  or 
song  was  always  a  narrative.  If  it  were  an  evening  song 
it  was  a  sera  or  serenade,  or  if  it  were  a  night  song, 


THE  TROUBADOURS  163 

nocturne;  a  dance,  a  hallada;  a  round  dance,  a  rounde  or 
rondo;  a  country  love  song,  a  pastorella.  Even  the  words 
descant  and  treble  go  back  to  their  time;  for  the  jongleurs, 
singing  their  masters'  songs,  would  not  all  follow  the 
same  melody;  one  of  them  would  seek  to  embellish  it 
and  sing  something  quite  diflFerent  that  still  would  fit  well 
with  the  original  melody,  just  as  nowadays,  in  small 
amateur  bands  we  often  hear  a  flute  player  adding  em- 
bellishing notes  to  his  part.  Soon,  more  than  one  singer 
added  to  his  part,  and  the  new  voice  was  called  the  triple, 
third,  or  treble  voice.  This  extemporizing  on  the  part 
of  the  jongleurs  soon  had  to  be  regulated,  and  the  actual 
notes  written  down  to  avoid  confusion.  Thus  this  habit 
of  singing  merged  into  faux  bourdon,  which  has  been 
discussed  in  a  former  chapter.  Apart  from  these  forms 
of  song,  there  were  some  called  sirventes  —  that  is  "songs 
of  service,"  which  were  very  partisan,  and  were  accom- 
panied by  drums,  bells,  and  pipes,  and  sometimes  by 
trumpets.  The  more  warlike  of  these  songs  were  sung  at 
tournaments  by  the  jongleurs  outside  the  lists,  while  their 
masters,  the  troubadours,  were  doing  battle,  of  which  cus- 
tom a  good  description  is  to  be  found  in  Hagen's  book  on 
the  minnesingers. 

In  France  the  Provengal  poetry  lasted  only  until  the 
middle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  after  the  troubadours 
had  received  a  crushing  blow  at  the  time  the  Albigenses 
were  extirpated  in  the  thirteenth  century. 

In  one  city  alone  (that  of  Beziers),  between  30,000  and 
40,000  people  were  killed  for  heresy  against  the  Pope. 
The  motto  of  the  Pope's  representatives  was  "God  will 


1 64  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

know  His  Own,"  and  Catholics  as  well  as  Albigenses  (as 
the  sect  was  called)  were  massacred  indiscriminately. 
That  this  heresy  against  the  Pope  was  vastly  aided  by  the 
troubadours,  is  hardly  open  to  doubt.  Such  was  their 
power  that  the  rebellious,  antipapal  sirventes  of  the 
troubadours  (which  were  sung  by  their  troops  of  jongleurs 
in  every  market  place)  could  be  suppressed  only  after  the 
cities  of  Provence  were  almost  entirely  annihilated  and 
the  population  destroyed  by  the  massacre,  burning  alive, 
and  the  Inquisition. 

A  review  of  the  poems  of  Bertran  de  Bom,  Bernart  de 
Ventadour,  Thibaut,  or  others  is  hardly  in  place  here. 
Therefore  we  will  pass  to  Germany,  where  the  spirit  of  the 
troubadours  was  assimilated  in  a  peculiarly  Germanic 
fashion  by  the  minnesingers  and  the  mastersingers. 

In  Germany,  the  troubadours  became  minnesingers,  or 
singers  of  love  songs,  and  as  early  as  the  middle  of  the 
twelfth  century  the  minnesingers  were  already  a  powerful 
factor  in  the  life  of  the  epoch,  counting  among  their 
number  many  great  nobles  and  kings.  The  German 
miimesingers  differed  from  the  French  troubadours  in 
that  they  themselves  accompanied  their  songs  on  the  viol, 
Jnstead  of  employing  jongleurs.  Their  poems,  written  in 
the  Swabian  dialect,  then  the  court  language  of  Germany, 
were  characterized  by  greater  pathos  and  purity  than 
those  of  the  troubadours,  and  their  longer  poems,  corre- 
sponding to  the  chansons  de  geste  of  the  north  of  France, 
were  also  superior  to  the  latter  in  point  of  dignity 
and  strength.  From  the  French  we  have  the  "Song  of 
Roland"  (which  William  the  Conqueror's  troops  sang  in 


THE  TROUBADOURS  165 

their  invasion  of  England);  from  the  Germans  the  "Nibel- 
iingen  Song,"  besides  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach's  "Par- 
zival"  and  Gottfried  von  Strasburg's  "Tristan."  In 
contradistinction  to  the  poetry  of  the  troubadours,  that  of 
the  minnesingers  was  characterized  by  an  undercurrent 
of  sadness  which  seems  to  be  pecuHar  to  the  Germanic 
race.  The  songs  are  full  of  nature  and  the  eternal  strife, 
between  Winter  and  Summer,  and  their  prototypes  Death 
and  Life  (recalling  the  ancient  myths  of  Maneros,  Bacchus, 
Astoreth,  Bel,  etc.). 

After  the  death  of  Konrad  IV,  the  last  Swabian  emperor 
of  the  House  of  Hohenstaufen,  minnesinging  in  Germany 
decUned,  and  was  succeeded  by  the  movement  represented 
by  the  meister  or  mastersingers.  During  the  fourteenth 
and  fifteenth  centuries,  when  Germany  was  broken  up 
into  countless  small  duchies  and  kingdoms,  many  of  the 
German  nobles  became  mere  robbers  and  took  part  in  the 
innumerable  Httle  wars  which  kept  the  nation  in  a  state 
of  ferment.  Thus  they  had  neither  time  nor  inclination 
to  occupy  themselves  with  such  pursuits  as  poetry  or 
music.  In  the  meanwhile,  however,  the  incessant  warfare 
and  brigandage  that  prevailed  in  the  country  tended  to 
drive  the  population  to  the  cities  for  protection.  The 
latter  grew  in  size,  and  Httle  by  little  the  tradespeople 
began  to  take  up  the  arts  of  poetry  and  music  which  had 
been  discarded  by  the  nobles. 

Following  their  custom  in  respect  to  their  trades,  they 
formed  the  art  companies  into  guilds,  the  rules  for  ad- 
mittance to  which  were  very  strict.  The  rank  of  each 
member  was  determined  by  his  skill  in  applying  the  rules 


1 66  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

of  the  "Tabulatur,"  as  it  was  called.  There  were  five 
grades  of  membership:  the  lowest  was  that  of  mere  ad- 
mittance to  the  guild;  the  next  carried  with  it  the  title 
of  scholar;  the  third  the  friend  of  the  school;  after  that 
came  the  singer,  the  poet;  and  last  of  all  the  mastersinger, 
to  attain  which  distinction  the  aspirant  must  have  in- 
vented a  new  style  of  melody  or  rhyme.  The  details  of 
the  contest  we  all  know  from  Wagner's  comedy;  in  a 
number  of  cases  Wagner  even  made  use  of  the  sentences 
and  words  found  in  the  rules  of  the  mastersingers.  Al- 
though the  mastersingers  retained  their  guild  privileges 
in  different  parts  of  Germany  almost  up  to  the  middle 
of  the  present  century,  the  movement  was  strongest  in 
Bavaria,  with  Nuremberg  as  its  centre. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  mastersingers  and  the  minne- 
singers were  two  very  different  classes  of  men.  The 
mastersingers  are  mainly  valuable  for  having  given 
Wagner  a  pretext  for  his  wonderful  music.  Hans  Sachs 
was  perhaps  the  only  one  of  the  mastersingers  whose 
melodies  show  anything  but  the  flattest  mediocrity. 
The  minnesingers  and  their  immediate  predecessors  and 
successors,  on  the  other  hand,  furnished  thought  for  a 
great  part  of  our  modem  art.  To  put  it  in  a  broad 
manner,  it  may  be  said  that  much  of  our  modem  poetry 
owes  more  than  is  generally  conceded  to  the  German 
mediaeval  romance  as  represented  in  the  works  of  Wolfram 
von  Eschenbach,  Gottfried  of  Strasburg,  and  the  unknown 
compilers  of  the  "Nibelungenlied"  and  "Gutrune." 
Music  owes  more  to  the  troubadours,  for,  from  what 
we  know  of  the  melodies  of  the  minnesmgers,  they  cannot 


THE   TROUBADOURS  1 67 

compare  in  expressiveness  with  those  of  their  French 
confreres. 

In  closing  this  consideration  of  the  minnesingers,  I  will 
quote  some  of  their  verses  and  melodies,  giving  short 
accounts  of  the  authors. 

The  best  known  of  the  minnesingers  were  Walther  von 
der  Vogelweide,  Heinrich  Frauenlob,  Tannhauser,  Nithart, 
Toggenburg,  etc.  We  first  hear  of  Walther  von  der 
Vogelweide  in  1200,  as  a  poet  attached  to  the  court  of 
PhiHp  of  Hohenstaufen,  the  German  Kaiser,  and  shortly 
after  to  that  of  his  successors  Otto  and  Friedrich.  He 
accompanied  Kaiser  Friedrich  to  the  Crusade  of  1228, 
and  saw  him  crowned  in  Jerusalem.  He  died  in  Wiirz- 
burg,  Bavaria.  In  accordance  with  his  dying  request, 
food  and  drink  for  the  birds  were  placed  on  his  tomb 
every  day;  the  four  holes  carved  for  that  purpose  being 
still  visible.  The  pictures  in  Hagen's  work  on  the  mas- 
tersingers  were  collected  in  the  fifteenth  century  by 
Manasses  of  Zorich,  and  have  served  as  the  basis  for  all 
subsequent  works  on  the  subject.  The  picture  of  Von  der 
Vogelweide  (page  21)  shows  him  sitting  in  an  attitude 
of  meditation,  on  a  green  hillock,  beside  him  his  sword 
and  his  coat  of  arms  (a  caged  bird  on  one  side  and  his 
helmet  on  the  other),  and  in  his  hand  a  roll  of  manuscript. 
One  of  his  shorter  poems  begins: 

Neath  the  lindens 
In  the  meadow 
Seek  I  flowers  sweet; 
Clover  fragrant, 
Tender  grasses, 
Bend  beneath  my  feet. 


l68  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

See,  the  gloaming, 

Softly  sinking. 

Covers  hill  and  dale. 

Hush!  my  lover  — 

Tandaradei ! 

Sweet  sings  the  nightingale. 

We  all  are  familiar  with  Tannhauser  (plate  35),  through 
Wagner's  opera;  therefore  it  is  unnecessary  to  say  more 
than  that  he  was  a  real  person,  a  minnesinger,  and  that  the 
singing  tournament  at  the  Wartburg  (the  castle  of  the 
Thiiringen  family)  really  took  place  in  1206-07.  This 
tournament,  which  Wagner  introduces  into  his  "Tann- 
hauser, "was  a  trial  of  knightly  strength,  poetry, and  music, 
between  the  courts  of  Babenhausen  and  Thiiringen,  and 
was  held  in  Erfurt.  Among  the  knights  who  competed 
were  Klingsor  of  Hungary,  a  descendant  of  the  Klingsor 
who  figures  in  the  "Parzival"  legend,  Tannhauser, 
Walther  von  Eschenbach,  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide, 
and  many  others.  Tannhauser  was  a  follower,  or  perhaps 
better,  the  successor  of  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide, 
like  him,  a  crusader,  and  Uved  in  the  first  half  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  Toggenburg  and  Frauenlob  were 
both  celebrated  minnesingers,  the  former  (plate  7)  being 
the  subject  of  many  strange  legends.  The  simplicity  and 
melodious  charm  of  his  verses  seem  to  contradict  the 
savage  brutahty  ascribed  to  him  in  the  stories  of  his  life. 

Frauenlob  (plate  44),  as  Heinrich  von  Meissen  was 
called,  represents  the  minnesingers  at  the  height  of  their 
development.  He  died  about  1320,  and  his  works,  as  his 
nickname  suggests,  were  imbued  with  das  ewig  weibliche 


THE  TROUBADOURS  169 

in  its  best  sense.  He  was  called  the  Magister  of  the 
seven  free  arts,  and  was  given  the  position  of  Canon  of 
the  Cathedral  of  Mayence,  with  the  title  of  Doctor  of 
Divinity.  He  also  wrote  a  paraphrase  on  the  "Song 
of  Solomon, "  turning  it  into  a  rhapsodical  eulogy  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  carrying  versification  to  what  seemed  then 
its  utmost  limits.  The  picture  shows  him  playing  and 
singing  to  some  prince,  the  carpet  on  which  he  stands 
being  lifted  by  the  attendants.  It  makes  plain  the  dif- 
ference between  the  minnesingers  and  the  troubadours. 
In  this  picture  the  singer  is  seen  to  be  accompanying 
himself  before  the  king,  whereas  in  plate  28  we  see  two 
troubadours  in  the  lists,  their  jongleurs  playing  or  sing- 
ing the  songs  of  their  masters,  while  the  latter  engage  each 
other  in  battle.  In  order  to  give  one  more  example  we 
will  take  the  pictures  of  Conrad,  the  son  of  Conrad  IV, 
and  the  last  of  the  Hohenstaufens  (plate  11).  He  was  bom 
about  1250,  and  was  beheaded  in  the  market  place  at 
Naples  in  1268.  The  story  of  Konradin,  as  he  was  called, 
is  famihar;  how  he  hved  with  his  mother  at  the  castle  of 
her  brother,  Ludwig  of  Bavaria,  how  he  was  induced  to 
join  in  a  rebelUon  of  the  two  Sicihes  (to  the  crown  of 
which  he  was  heir)  against  France,  his  defeat  and  execu- 
tion by  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  himself  a  well-known  trouba- 
doiu-.  The  text  accompanying  his  picture  in  Hagen's 
work  describes  him  as  having  black  eyes  and  blonde 
hair,  and  wearing  a  long  green  dress  with  a  golden  collar. 
His  gray  hunting  horse  is  covered  with  a  crimson  mantle, 
has  a  golden  saddle  and  bit,  and  scarlet  reins.  Konradin 
wears  white  hunting  gloves  and  a  three-cornered  king's 


lyo  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

crown.  Above  the  picture  are  the  arms  of  the  kingdom 
of  Jerusalem  (a  golden  crown  in  silver  ground),  to  which 
he  was  heir  through  his  grandmother,  lolanthe.  One  of 
his  songs  runs  as  follows,  and  it  may  be  accepted  as 
a  fair  specimen  of  the  style  of  lyric  written  by  the 
minnesingers: 

The  lovely  flowers  and  verdure  sweet 

That  gentle  May  doth  slip 

Have  been  imprisoned  cruelly 

In  Winter's  iron  grip; 

But  May  smiles  o'er  the  green  clad  fields 

That  seemed  anon  so  sad, 

And  all  the  world  is  glad. 

No  joy  to  me  the  Summer  brings 
With  all  its  bright  long  days. 
My  thoughts  are  of  a  maiden  fair 
Who  mocks  my  pleading  gaze; 
She  passes  me  in  haughty  mood, 
Denies  me  aught  but  scorn, 
And  makes  my  life  forlorn. 

Yet  should  I  turn  my  love  from  her, 

For  aye  my  love  were  gone. 

I'd  gladly  die  could  I  forget 

The  love  that  haunts  my  song. 

So,  lonely,  joyless,  live  I  on, 

For  love  my  prayer  denies, 

And,  childlike,  mocks  my  sighs. 

/     The  music  of  these  minnesingers  existing  in  manuscript 

/  has  been  but  little  heeded,  and  only  lately  has  an  attempt 

/   been  made  to  classify  and  translate  it  into  modem  nota- 

/    tion.    The  result  so  far  attained  has  been  unsatisfactory, 


THE  TROUBADOURS 


171 


for  the  rhythms  are  all  given  as  spondaic.  This  seems 
a  very  improbable  solution  of  the  mystery  that  must 
inevitably  enshroud  the  musical  notation  of  the  eleventh, 
twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries. 

Nithart  (plate  36),  by  whom  a  number  of  melodies  or 
"tones"  are  given  in  Hagen's  book  (page  845),  has  been 
dubbed  the  second  "Till  Eulenspiegel. "  He  was  a  Bava- 
rian, and  lived  about  1230,  at  the  court  of  Frederick  of 
Austria.  He  was  eminently  the  poet  and  singer  of  the 
peasants,  with  whom,  after  the  manner  of  Eulenspiegel,  he 
had  many  quarrels,  one  of  which  is  evidently  the  subject 
of  the  picture.  His  music,  or  melodies,  and  the  verses 
which  went  with  them,  form  the  most  complete  authentic 
collection  of  mediaeval  music  known.  In  considering  the 
minnelieder  of  the  Germans  it  is  very  interesting  to  com- 
pare them  with  the  songs  of  the  troubadours,  and  to 
note  how  in  the  latter  the  Arab  influence  has  increased 
the  number  of  curved  lines,  or  arabesques,  whereas  the 
German  songs  may  be  likened  to  straight  Unes,  a  char- 
acteristic which  we  know  is  a  peculiarity  of  their  folk 
song. 

PASTORELLA  BY  THIBAUT  II,  KING  OF  NAVARRE,  1254. 

L'Au  -  tri-er  par    la   ma  -  ti-n6e    En  -  tre  sen  bos  et    un 


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172  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Vergier       Une         past  -  ore  ai  trou-ne6  chan-tant  pour 


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THE  TROUBADOURS 


173 


Example  from  Nithart 


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Tn  speaking  of  the  straight  lines  of  the  melodies  of  the 
minnesingers  and  in  comparing  them  with  the  tinge  of 
orientaUsm  to  be  found  in  those  of  the  troubadourSj  it  was 
sai4  that  music  owes  more  to  the  latter  than  to  the  for- 
mer, and  this  is  true.  If  we  admit  that  the  straight  Une 
of  Grecian  architecture  is  perfect,  so  must  we  also  admit 
that  mankind  is  imperfect.  We  are  living  beings,  and  as 
such  are  swayed  to  a  great  extent  by  our  emotions.  To 
the  straight  line  of  purity  in  art  the  tinge  of  orientaHsm, 
the  curved  Une  of  emotion,  brings  the  flush  of  life,  and  the 
result  is  something  which  we  can  feel  as  well  as  worship 
from  afar.  Music  is  a  language,  and  to  mankind  it  serves 
as  a  mediimi  for  saying  something  which  cannot  be  put 
into  mere  words.  Therefore,  it  must  contain  the  human 
element  of  mere  sensuousness  in  order  to  be  intelligible. 


174  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

I  This  is  why  the  music  of  the  troubadours,  although  not 
\  so  pure  in  style  as  that  of  the  minnesingers,  has  been  of 
\the  greatest  value  in  the  development  of  our  art.  This 
orientalism,  however,  must  not  mask  the  straight  line; 
it  must  be  the  means  of  lending  more  force,  tenderness, 
or  what  not,  to  the  figure.  It  must  be  what  the  poem  is 
to  the  picture,  the  perfume  to  the  flower;  it  must  help 
to  illustrate  the  thing  itself.  The  moment  we  find  this 
orientalism  (and  I  am  using  the  word  in  its  broadest 
sense)  covering,  and  thus  distorting  the  straight  line  of 
pure  music,  then  we  have  national  music  so-called,  a 
music  which  derives  its  name  and  fame  from  the  clothes 
it  wears  and  not  from  that  strange  language  of  the  soul, 
the  "why"  of  which  no  man  has  ever  discovered. 


xin 

EARLY  INSTRUMENTAL  FORMS 

Referring  to  some  newspaper  reports  which  he  knew  to 
be  without  foundation,  Bismarck  once  said,  "  Newspapers 
are  simply  a  union  of  printer's  ink  and  paper."  Omitting 
the  implied  slur  we  might  say  the  same  of  printed  music 
and  printed  criticism;  therefore,  in  considering  printed 
music  we  must,  first  of  all,  remember  that  it  is  the  letter 
of  the  law  which  kills.  We  must  look  deeper,  and  be  able 
to  translate  soimds  back  into  the  emotions  which  caused 
them.  There  is  no  right  or  wrong  way  to  give  utterance 
to  music.  There  is  but  one  way,  namely,  through  the 
living,  vital  expression  of  the  content  of  the  music;  all 
else  is  not  music  but  mere  pleasure  for  the  ear,  a  thing  of 
the  senses.  For  the  time  being  we  must  see  through 
the  composer's  eyes  and  hear  through  his  ears.  In  other 
words,  we  must  think  in  his  language.  The  process  of 
creating  music  is  often,  to  a  great  extent,  beyond  the  con- 
trol of  the  composer,  just  as  is  the  case  with  the  novelist 
and  his  characters.  The  language  through  which  musical 
thought  is  expressed,  however,  is  a  different  thing,  and  it 
is  this  process  of  developing  musical  speech  until  it  has 
become  capable  of  saying  for  us  that  which,  in  our  spoken 
language,  must  ever  remain  unsaid,  that  I  shall  try  to  make 
clear  in  our  consideration  of  form  in  music. 

I7S 


176  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Until  the  very  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  music,  so 
far  as  we  know,  had  no  language  of  its  own,  that  is  to  say, 
it  was  not  recognized  as  a  medium  for  expressing  thought 
or  emotion.  Josquin  des  Pres  (bom  at  Conde  in  the  north 
of  France  in  1450,  died  1521)  was  the  first  to  attempt 
the  expression  of  thought  in  sound.  Luther,  in  rebelling 
against  Rome,  also  overturned  the  music  of  the  church  in 
Germany.  He  incorporated  many  folk  songs  into  the 
music  of  the  Protestant  church  and  discarded  the  old 
Gregorian  chant  (which  was  vague  in  rhythm,  or,  rather, 
wholly  without  rhythm),  calling  it  asinine  braying. 

While  Luther  was  paving  the  way  for  Bach  by  encourag- 
ing church  music  to  be  something  more  than  merely  the 
singing  of  certain  melodies  according  to  prescribed  rules, 
in  Italy  (at  the  time  of  his  death  in  1546)  the  Council  of 
Trent  was  already  trying  to  decide  upon  a  style  of  music 
proper  for  the  church.  The  matter  was  definitely  settled 
in  1562  or  1563  by  the  adoption  of  Palestrina's  style.* 
Thus,  while  in  Germany  ecclesiastical  music  was  being 
broadened  and  an  opening  offered  for  the  development 
of  the  dramatic  and  emotional  side  of  music,  in  Italy,  on 
the  contrary,  the  emotional  style  of  music  was  being 
neglected  and  an  absolutely  serene  style  of  what  may  be 
called  "  impersonal  "  music  encouraged.  Italy,  however, 
soon  had  opera  on  which  to  fall  back,  and  thus  music 
in  both  countries  developed  rapidly,  although  on  dififerent 
lines. 

In  England,  the  budding  school  of  Enghsh  art,  as 
exempHfied  by  Purcell,  was  soon  overwhelmed  by  the 
*  Pier  Luigi,  born  in  Palestrina,  near  Rome. 


EARLY  INSTRUMENTAL  FORMS  1 77 

influence  of  Handel  and  the  all-pervading  school  of  Italian 
opera,  which  he  brought  with  him. 

In  France,  up  to  1655,  when  Cardinal  Mazarin  sent  to 
Italy  for  an  opera  troupe  with  the  purpose  of  entertaining 
Anne  of  Austria  (the  widow  of  Louis  XIII),  there  was 
practically  no  recognized  music  except  that  imported  from 
other  countries.  Under  Louis  XI  (d.  1483)  Ockeghem,  the 
Netherland  contrapuntist,  was  the  chief  musician  of  the 
land. 

The  French  pantomimes  or  masques,  as  they  were 
sometimes  called,  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  represented 
a  valuable  gain  to  art,  although  their  prevalence  in  France 
points  directly  to  their  having  been  the  direct  descendants 
of  the  old  pantomime  on  one  hand,  and  on  the  other,  the 
direct  ancestor  of  the  French  opera.  For  we  read  that 
already  in  1581  (twenty  years  before  Caccini's  "  Euri- 
dice  "  at  Florence),  a  ballet  entitled  "Circe"  was  given 
on  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Margaret  of  Lorraine, 
the  stepsister  of  Henry  HI.  The  music  to  it  was  written 
by  BeauHeu  and  Salmon,  two  court  musicians.  There 
were  ten  bands  of  music  in  the  cupola  of  the  ballroom 
where  the  ballet  was  given.  These  bands  included  haut- 
bois,  comets,  trombones,  violas  de  gamba,  flutes,  harps, 
lutes,  flageolets.  Besides  all  this,  ten  violin  players  in 
costume  entered  the  scene  in  the  first  act,  five  from  each 
side.  Then  a  troupe  of  Tritons  came  swimming  in,  playing 
lutes,  harps,  flutes,  one  even  having  a  kind  of  'cello.  When 
Jupiter  makes  his  appearance,  he  is  accompanied  by  forty 
musicians.  The  festivities  on  this  occasion  are  said  to 
have  cost  over  five  million  francs.     Musically,  the  ballet 


178  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

was  no  advance  towards  expressiveness  in  art.  An  air 
which  accompanied  "  Circe's  "  entrance,  may  be  cited  as 
being  the  original  of  the  well-known  "Amaryllis,"  which  is 
generally  called  Air  Louis  XV.  Baltazarini  calls  it  un  son 
fort  gai,  nomme  la  clochette. 

Music  remained  inert  in  France  until  1650,  when  the 
Italians  gained  an  ascendancy,  which  they  retained  until 
1732,  when  Rameau's  first  opera  "  Hyppolyte  et  Aricie  " 
was  given  in  Paris.  Rameau  had  already  commenced 
his  career  by  gaining  great  success  as  a  harpsichord  player 
and  instrumental  composer,  mostly  for  the  harpsichord. 
By  his  time,  however,  music,  that  is  to  say,  secular  music, 
was  already  becoming  a  new  art,  and  the  French  merely 
improved  upon  what  already  existed. 

Now  this  new  art  was  first  particularly  evident  in  the 
dances  of  these  different  peoples.  These  dances  gave  the 
music  form,  and  held  it  down  to  certain  prescribed  rhythms 
and  duration.  Little  by  little  the  emotions,  the  natural 
expression  of  which  is  music,  could  no  longer  be  restricted 
to  these  dance  forms  and  rhythms;  and  gradually  the  latter 
were  modified  by  each  daring  innovator  in  turn.  This 
"  daring "  of  human  beings,  in  breaking  through  the 
trammels  of  the  dance  in  order  to  express  what  lay  within 
their  souls  in  the  language  that  properly  belonged  to  it, 
would  seem  almost  ludicrous  to  us,  were  we  not  even 
to-day  trying  to  get  up  courage  to  do  the  same  thing. 
The  modifications  of  dance  forms  led  up  to  our  sonata, 
symphony,  and  symphonic  poem,  as  I  hope  to  show. 
Opera  was  a  thing  apart,  and,  being  untrammelled  either 
by  dance  rhythms  or  church  laws,  developed  gradually  and 


EARLY  INSTRUMENTAL  FORMS 


179 


normally.  It  cannot,  however,  be  said  to  have  developed 
side  by  side  with  purely  instriimental  music,  for  the  latter 
is  only  just  beginning  to  emancipate  itself  from  its  dance 
clothes  and  to  come  forth  as  a  language  for  the  expression 
of  all  that  is  divine  in  man.  First  we  will  consider  the 
forms  and  rhythms  of  these  dances,  then  the  awakening 
of  the  idea  of  design  in  music,  and  its  efifect  in  modifying 
these  forms  and  lajdng  the  foundation  for  the  sonata  of 
the  nineteenth  century. 

The  following  shows  the  structure  of  the  different  dance 
forms  up  to  about  1750. 


OLD  DANCE  FORMS     (1650-1750). 
Motive    Motive   Motive   Motive   Motive   Motive   Motive   Motive 


Ir  LT  'g?7i rjuir  i r  r  I r  1/ 1 r7 1 &^'  1  r 


Phrase  Phrase  Phrase  Phrase 

A  phrase  may  be  three  or  four  measures,  and  the  sections  may  be  unequal 


Section 


Section 


Period 

This  period  might  be  repeated  or  extended  to  sixteen  measnres  and  still  remain 
a  period. 

IP.      HP. 
I 

2 
3 


I      II 

1  (II  is  generally  longer  than  I) 

I  "  n 
'   I  "  II 

III 

1 11  (generally  HI  resembles  I) 

III      I       II            I      n     ni      I 

1            II            II            11  nr  II            II           11            1!           1 

I      II 

1  jjj  11  jy  II        11  or  II        11        11        II        1 
1 II II 

III     IV      I      n 

1       II       II       II     .11 

I      II 

I      II 

II 

'    I     "ill"  IV    "ill    "l         II         I 

1 II II II II II II 11 

In  all  these  forms  each  period  may  be  repeated. 


l8o  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

Often  the  first,  third,  and  fourth  periods  are  repeated, 
leaving  the  second  period  as  it  is.  This  happens  especially 
when  the  second  period  is  longer  than  the  first.  In  Nos. 
2,  4,  6,  7,  a  few  bars  are  often  added  at  Fine  as  a  coda. 

ANALYSIS   OF   OLD  DANCES 

1.  SARABA^fDE. —   It  l^nto.     Rhythm   [jlf   T*  T  | 
f-r\-    Fonn  I,  sometimes  Form  2.    This  is  of  Spanish 

origin  (Saracen  dance),  and  is  generally  accompanied  by 
variations  called  partita  or  doubles. 

2.  Musette  (cornemusa  or  bagpipe).  —  44  allegretto. 
Form  I.  Always  written  over  or  under  a  pedal  note, 
which  is  generally  sustained  to  the  end.  It  generally 
forms  the  second  part  (not  period)  to  the  gavotte. 

3.  Gavotte.  —  4  allegro  moderato. 

Rhythm \\ir  r  \r  err  r\or\r  c/  I  r  r  r r  |. 

Always  commences  on  the  third  beat.  Form  3  or  5. 
When  accompanied  by  a  musette,  the  gavotte  is  always 
repeated. 

4.  Bourree.-!-$  allegro.  Rhythm  $rj*|f  T  T  C/ 1- 
Form  3  or  5.  Generally  faster  than  the  gavotte,  and 
commences  on  the  fourth  beat. 

5.  RiGAUDON.  —  Similar  to  the  bourree,  but  slower. 

6.  LouRE.  —  Similar  to  the  bourree,  but  slower.  (In 
French  the  verb  lourer  means  "  to  hold,"  which  may  have 
been  a  characteristic  of  the  loure  bass). 

7.  Tambourin.  —  $  allegro.  In  form  and  rhythm  like 
the  gavotte,  but  faster.  Usually  founded  on  a  rhythmic 
pedal  note  imitating  a  tambourine. 


EARLY  INSTRUMENTAL  FORMS  l8l 

8.  CoRRENTE,   CouRANTE.  —  4  allegretto. 
Rhythm  | "'  fjlf  |   IZJUU  |   or  |  J   |   rTfTrr     \ 
(does  not  usually  commence   on    the    beat).     Form    i, 
sometimes  Form  2.    The  rhythm  is  usually  uniform,  a 
kind  of  perpetual  motion,  though  not  in  one  voice. 

9.  Minuet.  —  4  generally  a  little  slower  than  moderato, 
although  in  later  minuets  the  tempo  became  allegretto. 
Rhythm,  generally,  li  3  •  \mp^\p  f  ^  f  f  I     etc.    Old 

minuets  often  began  on  the  first  beat.  Form  4;  the 
third  and  fourth  periods  being  generally  in  a  different 
mode  from  the  first  and  second  periods,  and  called  Trio  or 
Minuet  2.  Minuets  exist  also  without  the  Trio,  and  are 
in  Form  i  or  2. 

10.  Chaconne.  —  4  moderato.  Form  imdecided;  has 
sometimes  even  only  one  period,  sometimes  three  or  two. 
It  is  generally  accompanied  by  doubles  or  variations,  and 
is  invariably  written  on  a  ground  bass  or  hasso  ostinato. 
The  rhythm  is  often  syncopated. 

Passacaille,  4,  resembles  a  chaconne  but  is  more 
stately. 

11.  Waltz  (old  German). —  %  andante  moderato. 
Generally  Form  6.  Rhythm  \\l  T  C  Z^  \Lf  C  LS\ 
approximately. 

12.  March.  —  4  allegro  moderato. 

Rhythm  iiJ  Ci:r  I  r  Ci'  r  r  I  r-  lit  I  etc.,  or  n  r  | 

r  C^  r  r  I  etc.     Form  6.     Generally  all  the  periods  are 

repeated  and  consist  of  eight  measures  each;  third  and 
fourth  periods  change  the  key  and  rhythm. 


l82  CRITICAL   AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

13.  ALLEMA>fDE.  —  4  modcrato.  Rhythm  generally 
uniform  sixteenth  notes.     Form  i. 

14.  Passepied.  —  Quick  minuet. 

15.  Pa  VANE,  Padvana,  or  Pavo  (peacock).  —  4  an- 
dante moderato.  Rhythm  |||  f  C^  f  *  5  I  LLLI  f  I- 
Form  2  or  6.  Sometimes  4;  third  and  fovu-th  periods  in 
different  keys. 

16.  GiGUE. —  4  8  I  I  8  W  presto.  Rhythm  gen- 
erally imiform  eighth  notes.    Forms  i  and  2. 

17.  Polonaise.  —  |.  Rhythm  |!  t  T  gl.*  T  L**  T  I  or 
II  tX  r  CLT  r  r  I  allegro.    Form  i,  generally  with  short  coda. 

MODERN  FORMS   (1800). 

1.  Mazurka. —  %  allegretto.     Form  6. 
Rhythm   HI  T  ICiT  T    T    I- 

2.  Polonaise  (also  Polacca).  —  %  allegro  maestoso. 
Rhythm  lllrj'  ^^  CJLLT  II  or  :  r  £a' IT  I-  The 
bass  is  generally   |  f  C-T  tJLlS  \-    Form  7. 

3.  Bolero  (Cachtjcha)  (Spanish). — Like  the  polonaise 
but  Uvelier,  and  generally  containing  counter-rhythms  in 
triplets. 

4.  Habanera.  —  %.  Rhythm  ||  I  LI  LC/  I  il  ^Ia  I 
Q_p    r  r  r  |  CJ*  f  1-    The  characteristic  element  is  the 
mixture  of  triplets  and  eighth  notes.    Time,  andante. 
Form  undecided,  generally  No.  i.    Very  often  repeated 
with  slight  changes. 


EARLY  INSTRUMENTAL  FORMS  183 

5.  Czardas  (Hungarian).  —  First  part  ^  (lassan,  lento) ; 
second  part  4  (friska,  presto  and  prestissimo).  For 
form  and  rhythm  see  Liszt's  rhapsodies,  Nos.  2,  4,  and  6. 

6.  Tarantella.  —  Rhythm  ||  |  CJ^j"  rj^f  \  ZIS  Clf 
or  'I  r..r  r  ZJIS  I  r  J  r  J II-  Time,  molto  allegro  to  pres- 
tissimo. Forms  4  and  6,  sometimes  7.  In  the  Trio  the 
movement  is  often  quieter  although  not  necessarily 
slower.  It  almost  invariably  has  a  Coda.  The  Finale 
is  usually  prestissimo. 

7.  Saltarello.  —  Similar  to  the  tarantella,  with  the 
exception  of  having  more  jumps  (salti). 

8.  Polka  (about  1840).  —  4  allegretto. 

Rhythm  IJlC-T  *  I  I*  (!■'*  T  |.  Form  6.  Accent  is  on  the 
second  beat.  Cuban  dances  (sometimes  called  habaneros) 
are  often  in  polka  form  and  rhythm,  with  the  one  excep- 
tion of  the  triplets  peculiar  to  almost  all  Spanish  music 

IIS  CuV  I cr  r  I LC/ 1/  I  s^=r  £kj'  II 

9.  Waltz.  —  4.  Rhythm  (bass)  Hf  f  f  |  l^f  (•  |, 
Faster  than  the  old  waltz.  Form  2  with  a  coda.  Modem 
waltzes  are  often  written  in  sets,  or  many  different  waltzes 
joined  together  by  short  modulations  or  codas,  preceded 
by  an  introduction,  generally  in  one  period,  lento,  and 
ending  with  a  brilliant  coda  containing  reminiscences  of 
the  principal  themes. 

10.  Galop.  —  |.  Rhythm  ||  2  r^^f  LS  \Lf  LI  |  or 
I  yU  CJ*  I  ti-T  tU*  I-     ^o™^  ^-    ^^^>  presto. 

11.  March.  —  Same  as  the  old  march,  but  modified 
in  character  and  movement  according  to  its  title  —  funeral 


1 84  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

march,  military  march,  cortege,  festival  march,  etc.  In 
funeral  marches,  the  third  and  fourth  periods  are  gener- 
ally in  major. 

The  modernizing  of  dance  forms  has  been  imdertaken 
by  almost  every  writer  from  Scarlatti  (d.  1757)  down  to  our 
day.  Scarlatti  joined  sections  together  with  isolated 
measures,  repeated  sections  and  phrases  before  completing 
the  period,  and  added  short  codas  to  periods  indiscrimi- 
nately. Since  his  time,  everyone  has  added  to  or  curtailed 
the  accepted  forms  by  putting  two  forms  together;  hence 
the  fantaisie-mazurka,  etc.  Wagner  represents  the  cul- 
minating point  of  the  modem  tendency  to  disregard 
forms  which  were  interpreted  differently  by  every  com- 
poser, and  which  had  their  origin  in  dances. 

The  attempt  to  emancipate  music  from  the  dance  com- 
menced very  early;  in  fact,  most  of  the  earliest  secular 
music  we  know  already  shows  the  tendency  towards 
programme  music,  for,  from  an  emotional  standpoint, 
secular  music  began  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  ladder. 
It  was  made  to  express  things  at  first,  just  as  in  learning 
any  new  language  we  naturally  first  acquire  a  vocabu- 
lary of  nouns  to  express  things  we  see,  such  as  table, 
chair,  etc.,  in  the  same  way  that  in  written  language  the 
symbols  first  take  the  shape  of  animals  or  other  things 
they  are  meant  to  represent.  This  same  characteristic 
naturally  showed  itself  in  music  before  the  words  for 
emotion  came,  the  common,  everyday  nouns  were  sought 
for  in  this  new  language.  The  madrigals  of  Weelkes 
and  their  word  painting  show  this,  and  the  same  occur 
in  instrumental  music,  as  in  Byrd's  "  Carman's  Whistle," 


+ 


EARLY  INSTRUMENTAL   FORMS  185 

one  of  the  earliest  English  instrumental  works  con- 
temporaneous to  the  madrigals  of  Morley  and  others. 
In  France,  many  of  the  earliest  clavichord  pieces  were  of 
the  programme  type,  and  even  in  Germany,  where  in- 
strumental music  ran  practically  in  the  same  groove  with 
church  music,  the  same  tendency  showed  itself. 

I  have  given  the  forms  of  most  of  the  old  dances,  and 
also  the  elements  of  melodic  structure  (motive,  phrase, 
etc.).  I  must,  however,  add  the  caution  that  this  mate- 
rial is  to  be  accepted  in  a  general  way,  and  as  representing 
the  rhythms  and  forms  most  frequently  used.  A  French 
courante  differed  from  the  Italian,  and  certain  dances  were 
taken  at  different  tempi  in  different  countries.  Poor,  or 
at  least  careless  construction,  is  often  the  cause  of  much 
confusion.  Scarlatti,  for  instance,  is  especially  loose  in 
melodic  structure. 

It  was  only  with  Beethoven  that  the  art  of  musical 
design  showed  anything  Hke  complete  comprehension  by 
the  composer.  Until  then,  mth  occasional  almost  hap- 
hazard successes,  the  art  of  pushing  a  thought  to  its  logical 
conclusion  was  seemingly  unknown.  An  emotional  pas- 
sage now  and  then  would  often  betray  deep  feeling,  but 
the  thought  would  almost  invariably  be  lost  in  the  telling, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  the  musical  sentences  were  put 
together  almost  at  random,  mere  stress  of  momentary 
emotion  being  seemingly  the  only  guiding  influence.  Bach 
stands  alone;  his  sense  of  design  was  inherent,  but,  owing 
to  the  contrapimtal  tendency  of  his  time,  his  feeling  for 
melodic  design  is  often  overshadowed,  and  even  rendered 
impossible  by  the  complex  web  of  his  music.    With  a 


l86  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

number  of  melodies  sounding  together,  their  individual 
emotional  development  becomes  necessarily  difficult  to 
emphasize. 

Bach's  art  has  something  akin  to  that  of  Palestrina. 
They  both  stand  alone  in  the  history  of  the  world,  but 
the  latter  belongs  to  the  Middle  Ages.  He  is  the  direct 
descendant  of  Ambrose,  Gregory,  Notker,  Tutilo,  etc., 
the  crowning  monument  of  the  Roman  Church  in  music, 
and  represents  what  may  be  termed  unemotional  music. 
His  art  was  untouched  by  the  strange,  suggestive  colours 
of  modem  harmony;  it  was  pure,  unemotional,  and  serene. 
One  instinctively  thinks  of  Bach,  on  the  other  hand,  as  a 
kind  of  musical  reflection  of  Protestantism.  His  was  not 
a  secluded  art  which  lifted  its  head  high  above  the  multi- 
tude; it  was  rather  the  palpable  outpouring  of  a  great  heart. 
Bach  also  represents  all  the  pent-up  feeling  which  until 
then  had  longed  in  vain  for  utterance,  and  had  there  been 
any  canvas  for  him  to  paint  on  (to  use  a  poor  simile),  the 
result  would  have  been  still  more  marvellous.  As  it 
was,  the  material  at  his  disposal  was  a  poor  set  of  dance 
forms,  with  the  one  exception  of  the  fugue,  the  involved 
utterance  of  which  precluded  spontaneity  and  confined 
emotional  design  to  very  restricted  Hmits.  It  is  exactly 
as  if  Wagner  had  been  obliged  to  put  his  thoughts  in 
quadrille  form  with  the  possible  alternative  of  some 
mathematical  device  of  musical  double  bookkeeping.  As 
it  is,  Bach's  innovations  were  very  considerable.  In  the 
first  place,  owing  to  the  lack  of  the  system  of  equal  tem- 
perament, composers  had  been  limited  to  the  use  of  only 
two  or  three  sharps  and  flats;  in  all  the  harpsichord  music 


EARLY  INSTRUMENTAL   FORMS  187 

of  the  pre-Bach  period  we  rarely  find  compositions  in 
sharp  keys  beyond  G,  or  flat  keys  beyond  Ab.  To  be 
sure,  Rameau,  in  France,  began  at  the  same  time  to  see 
the  necessity  for  equal  temperament,  but  it  was  Bach  who, 
by  his  forty-eight  "  Preludes  and  Fugues,"  written  in  all 
the  keys,  first  settled  the  matter  definitely. 

In  the  fugue  form  itself,  he  made  many  innovations  con- 
sisting mainly  of  the  casting  aside  of  formalism.  With 
Bach  a  fugue  consists  of  what  is  called  the  "  exposition," 
that  is  to  say,  the  enunciation  of  the  theme  (subject), 
its  answer  by  another  voice  or  part,  recurrence  of  the 
subject  in  another  part  which,  in  turn,  is  again  answered, 
and  so  on  according  to  the  nmnber  of  voices  or  parts. 
After  the  exposition  the  fugue  consists  of  a  kind  of  free 
contrapuntal  fantasy  on  the  subject  and  its  answer.  By 
throwing  aside  the  restraint  of  form  Bach  often  gave  his 
fugues  an  emotional  significance  in  spite  of  the  complexity 
of  the  material  he  worked  with. 


XIV 

THE   MERGING   OF  THE  SUITE  INTO   THE 
SONATA 

In  the  previous  chapter  it  was  stated  that  the  various 
dances,  such  as  the  minuet,  sarabande,  allemande,  etc., 
led  up  to  our  modern  sonata  form,  or,  perhaps,  to  put  it 
more  clearly,  they  led  up  to  what  we  call  sonata  form. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  already  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
we  find  the  word  sonata  applied  to  musical  compositions; 
generally  to  pieces  for  the  violin,  but  rarely  for  the  harpsi- 
chord. The  word  sonata  was  derived  originally  from  the 
Italian  word  suonare,  "  to  sound,"  and  the  term  was  used 
to  distinguish  instrumental  from  vocal  music.  The  latter 
was  sung  (cantata),  the  former  was  sounded  (suonata)  by 
instruments.  Thus  many  pieces  were  called  stionatas; 
the  distinguishing  point  being  that  they  were  played  and 
not  sung.  Organ  sonatas  existed  as  far  back  as  1600  and 
even  earlier,  but  the  earliest  application  of  the  word  seems 
to  have  been  made  in  connection  with  pieces  for  the  violin. 

Dances  were  often  grouped  together,  especially  when 
they  had  some  slight  intrinsic  musical  value.  Probably 
the  term  sonata  first  designated  a  composirion  in  one  of 
these  dance  forms  not  intended  for  dancing.  Gradually 
groups  of  dances  were  called  suites;  then,  little  by  little, 
the  dance  titles  of  the  separate  mmibers  were  dropped, 
and  the  suite  was  called  sonata.     These  different  numbers, 

z88 


MERGING  THE  SUITE  INTO  THE  SONATA      189 

however,  retained  their  dance  characteristics,  as  we  shall 
see  later.  The  arrangement  of  the  pieces  composing  the 
suites  differed  in  various  countries.  There  were  French, 
Italian,  German,  and  English  suites,  generally,  however, 
retaining  the  same  grouping  of  the  different  movements. 
The  first  movement  consisted  of  an  allemande;  then  came 
a  courante;  then  a  minuet;  then  a  sarabande;  and  last  of 
all  a  gigue;  all  in  the  same  key.  Sometimes  the  minuet 
and  sarabande  changed  places,  just  as  in  modem  times  do 
the  andante  and  scherzo. 

Already  in  1685,  when  Corelli's  sonatas  for  strings 
appeared,  the  custom  of  decreasing  the  number  of  move- 
ments to  three  began  to  obtain,  and  a  century  later  this 
custom  was  universal.  The  allemande,  overture,  or  pre- 
ludio  formed  the  first  movement;  the  second  consisted  of 
the  sarabande,  the  ancestor  of  our  adagio;  and  the  last  part 
was  generally  a  gigu^.  Even  when  the  dance  titles  were 
no  more  used  (the  music  having  long  outgrown  its  original 
purpose),  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  these  different 
movements  were  retained;  the  sarabande  rhythm  was  still 
adhered  to  for  the  adagio  (even  by  Haydn)  and  the  triple 
time  and  rhythm  of  the  gigu^  were  given  to  the  last  part. 
In  addition  to  this,  these  three  movements  were  often  kept 
in  one  key.  In  his  first  sonatas  Beethoven  added  a  move- 
ment, generally  a  minuet,  to  this  scheme;  but  returned  to 
the  three-movement  structure  later.  His  Op.  iii  has  only 
two  movements,  in  a  way  returning  to  a  still  earUer  general 
form  of  the  sonata.  Now,  as  has  already  been  said,  some 
of  the  earUest  examples  of  instrumental  music  were  mainly 
descriptive  in  character,  that  is  to  say,  consisting  of 


IQO  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

imitations  of  things,  thus  marking  the  most  elementary 
stage  of  programme  music.  Little  by  little  composers 
became  more  ambitious  and  began  to  attempt  to  give 
expression  to  the  emotions  by  means  of  music;  and  at  last, 
with  Beethoven,  "  programme  music  "  may  be  said,  in  one 
sense,  to  have  reached  its  cHmax.  For  although  it  is  not 
generally  reaHzed,  he  wrote  every  one  of  his  sonatas  with 
definite  subjects,  and,  at  one  time,  was  on  the  point  of 
publishing  mottoes  to  them,  in  order  to  give  the  public 
a  hint  of  what  was  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  them. 

Analysis  may  be  considered  as  the  reducing  of  a  musical 
composition  to  its  various  elements  —  harmony,  rhythm, 
melody  —  and  power  of  expression.  Just  as  melody  may 
be  analyzed  down  to  the  motives  and  phrases  of  which 
it  consists,  so  may  the  expressiveness  of  music  be  analyzed; 
and  this  latter  study  is  most  valuable,  for  it  brings  us 
to  a  closer  understanding  of  the  power  of  music  as  a 
language. 

For  the  sake  of  clearness  we  will  group  music  as  fol- 
lows: 

1.  Dance  forms. 

2.  Programme  music.     (Things.     Feelings.) 

3.  The  gathering  together  of  dances  in  suites. 

4.  The  beginnings  of  design. 

5.  The  merging  of  the  suite  into  the  sonata. 

The  dance  tunes  I  need  hardly  quote;  they  consist  of 
a  mere  play  of  sound  to  keep  the  dancers  in  step,  for  which 
purpose  any  more  or  less  agreeable  rhythmical  succession 
of  soimds  will  serve. 


MERGING  THE  SUITE  INTO  THE   SONATA      191 

If  we  take  the  next  step  in  advance  of  instrumental 
music  we  come  to  the  gixing  of  meanings  to  these  dances, 
and,  as  I  have  explained,  these  meanings  will  at  first  have 
reference  to  things;  for  instance,  Couperin  imitates  an 
alarm  dock;  Rameau  tries  to  make  the  music  sound  as  if 
three  hands  were  playing  instead  of  two  {Les  trots  mains) ; 
he  imitates  sighing  {Les  soupirs);  the  scolding  voice;  he 
even  tries  to  express  a  mood  musically  (L'indifferente).  In 
Germany,  these  attempts  to  make  instrumental  music 
expressive  of  something  beyond  rhythmic  time-keeping 
continued,  and  we  find  Carl  Philip  Emanuel  Bach  attempt- 
ing to  express  light-hearted  amiabiHty  (La  complaisance) 
and  even  languor  (Les  tendres  langueurs).  The  suite, 
while  it  combined  several  dances  in  one  general  form, 
shows  only  a  trace  of  design.  There  was  more  design  in 
one  of  the  small  programme  pieces  already  quoted  than  in 
most  of  the  suites  of  this  period  (see,  for  example,  Loeilly's 
"  Suite  "). 

Bach  possessed  instinctively  the  feeling  for  musical 
speech  which  seemed  denied  to  his  contemporaries  when- 
ever they  had  no  actual  story  to  guide  their  expression; 
and  even  in  his  dance  music  we  find  coherent  musical  sen- 
tences as,  for  instance,  in  the  Courante  in  A. 

In  art  oiu*  opinions  must,  in  all  cases,  rest  directly  on 
the  thing  under  consideration  and  not  on  what  is  written 
about  it.  In  my  beUefs  I  am  no  respecter  of  the  written 
word,  that  is  to  say,  the  mere  fact  that  a  statement  is  made 
by  a  well-known  man,  is  printed  in  a  well-known  work,  or 
is  endorsed  by  many  prominent  names,  means  nothing  to 
me  if  the  thing  itself  is  available  for  examination.     Without 


192  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

a  thorough  knowledge  of  music,  including  its  history 
and  development,  and,  above  all,  musical  "  sympathy," 
individual  criticism  is,  of  course,  valueless;  at  the  same  time 
the  acquirement  of  this  knowledge  and  sympathy  is  not 
difficult,  and  I  hope  that  we  may  yet  have  a  public  in 
America  that  shall  be  capable  of  forming  its  own  ideas, 
and  not  be  influenced  by  tradition,  criticism,  or  fashion. 

We  need  to  open  our  eyes  and  see  for  ourselves  instead 
of  trusting  the  direction  of  our  steps  to  the  guidance  of 
others.  Even  an  opinion  based  on  ignorance,  frankly 
given,  is  of  more  value  to  art  than  a  platitude  gathered 
from  some  outside  source.  If  it  is  not  a  platitude  but  the 
echo  of  some  fine  thought,  it  only  makes  it  worse,  for  it  is 
not  sincere,  unless  of  course  it  is  quoted  understandingly. 
We  need  freshness  and  sincerity  in  forming  our  judgments 
in  art,  for  it  is  upon  these  that  art  lives.  All  over  the 
world  we  find  audiences  listening  suavely  to  long  concerts, 
and  yet  we  do  not  see  one  person  with  the  frankness  of 
the  little  boy  in  Andersen's  story  of  the  "  New  Clothes  of 
the  Emperor."  It  is  the  same  with  the  other  arts.  I 
have  never  heard  anyone  say  that  part  of  the  foreground  of 
Millet's  "  Angelus  "  is  "  muddy  "  or  that  the  Fomarina's 
mysterious  smile  is  anything  but  "  hauntingly  beauti- 
ful." People  do  not  dare  admire  the  London  Law  Courts; 
all  things  must  be  measured  by  the  straight  lines  of  Gre- 
cian architecture.  Frankness!  Let  us  have  frankness, 
and  if  we  have  no  feelings  on  a  subject,  let  us  remain  silent 
rather  than  echo  that  drone  in  the  hive  of  modern  thought, 
the  "  authority  in  art." 

Every  person  with  even  the  very  smallest  love  and 


MERGING  THE  SUITE  INTO  THE  SONATA      193 

sympathy  for  art  possesses  ideas  which  are  valuable  to 
that  art.  From  the  tiniest  seeds  sometimes  the  greatest 
trees  are  grown.  Why,  therefore,  allow  these  tender 
germs  of  individualism  to  be  smothered  by  that  flourish- 
ing, arrogant  bay  tree  of  tradition  —  fashion,  authority, 
convention,  etc. 

My  reason  for  insisting  on  the  importance  of  all  lovers 
of  art  being  able  to  form  their  own  opinions  is  obvious, 
when  we  consider  that  our  musical  pubhc  is  obliged  to 
take  everything  on  trust.  For  instance,  if  we  read  on 
one  page  of  some  history  (every  history  of  music  has  such 
a  page)  that  Mozart's  sonatas  are  subHme,  that  they  do 
not  contain  one  note  of  mere  filigree  work,  and  that  they 
far  transcend  anything  written  for  the  harpsichord  or 
clavichord  by  Haydn  or  his  contemporaries,  we  echo  the 
saying,  and,  if  necessary,  quote  the  "  authorities."  Now 
if  one  had  occasion  to  read  over  some  of  the  clavichord 
music  of  the  period,  possibly  it  might  seem  strange  that 
Mozart's  sonatas  did  not  impress  with  their  magnificence. 
One  might  even  harbour  a  lurking  doubt  as  to  the  value  of 
the  many  seemingly  bare  runs  and  rmmeaning  passages. 
Then  one  would  probably  turn  back  to  the  authorities 
for  an  explanation  and  find  perhaps  the  following:  "  The 
inexpressible  charm  of  Mozart's  music  leads  us  to  forget 
the  marvellous  learning  bestowed  upon  its  construction. 
Later  composers  have  sought  to  conceal  the  constructional 
points  of  the  sonata  which  Mozart  never  cared  to  disguise, 
so  that  incautious  students  have  sometimes  failed  to 
discern  in  them  the  veritable  *  pillars  of  the  house,'  and 
have  accused  Mozart  of  poverty  of  style  because  he  left 


194  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

them  boldly  exposed  to  view,  as  a  great  architect  delights 
to  expose  the  piers  upon  which  the  tower  of  his  cathedral 
depends  for  its  support."  (Rockstro,  "  History  of  Music," 
p.  269.)  Now  this  is  all  very  fine,  but  it  is  nonsense,  for 
Mozart's  sonatas  are  anything  but  cathedrals.  It  is  time 
to  cast  aside  this  shibboleth  of  printer's  ink  and  paper  and 
look  the  thing  itself  straight  in  the  face.  It  is  a  fact  that 
Mozart's  sonatas  are  compositions  entirely  unworthy  of 
the  author  of  the  "  Magic  Flute,"  or  of  any  composer  with 
pretensions  to  anything  beyond  mediocrity.  They  are 
written  in  a  style  of  flashy  harpsichord  virtuosity  such  as 
Liszt  never  descended  to,  even  in  those  of  his  works  at 
which  so  many  persons  are  accustomed  to  sneer. 

Such  a  statement  as  I  have  just  made  may  be  cried 
down  as  rank  heresy,  first  by  the  book  readers  and  then 
by  the  general  public;  but  I  doubt  if  anyone  among  that 
public  would  or  could  actually  turn  to  the  music  itself  and 
analyze  it  intelligently,  from  both  an  aesthetic  and  technical 
standpoint,  in  order  to  verify  or  disprove  the  assertion. 

Once  a  statement  is  made  it  seems  to  be  exceedingly 
diflSicult  to  keep  it  from  obtaining  the  universal  acceptance 
which  it  gains  by  unthinking  reiteration  in  other  works. 
One  of  the  strangest  cases  of  this  repetition  of  a  careless 
statement  may  be  found  in  the  majority  of  histories  of 
music,  where  we  are  told  that  musical  expression  (that  is 
to  say,  the  increasing  and  diminishing  of  a  tone,  crescendo 
and  diminuendo)  was  first  discovered  at  Mannheim,  in 
Germany,  about  1760.  This  statement  may  be  found  in 
the  works  of  Burney,  Schubart,  Reichardt,  Sittard,  Wasie- 
lewski,  and  even  in  Jahn's  celebrated  "  Life  of  Mozart." 


MERGING  THE  SUITE  INTO  THE  SONATA      195 

The  story  is  that  Jommelli,  an  Itahan,  first "  invented  "  the 
crescendo  and  diminuendo,  and  that  when  they  were  first 
used,  the  people  in  the  audience  gradually  rose  from  their 
seats  at  the  crescendo,  and  as  the  music  "  diminuendoed  " 
they  sat  down  again.  The  story  is  absurd,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  even  in  1705,  Sperling,  in  his  "  Principae 
Musicas,"  describes  crescendos  from  ppp  to  JJf,  and  we 
read  in  Plutarch  of  the  same  thing. 

Shedlock,  in  his  work  "  The  Pianoforte  Sonata,"  quotes 
as  the  first  sonatas  for  the  clavier  those  of  Kuhnau,  and 
dtes  especially  the  six  Bible  sonatas.  Now  Kuhnau, 
although  he  was  Bach's  predecessor  at  St.  Thomas'  Church 
in  Leipzig,  was  certainly  a  composer  of  the  very  lowest 
rank.  The  Bible  sonatas,  which  Shedlock  paints  to  us 
in  such  glowing  colours,  are  the  merest  trash,  and  not  to  be 
compared  with  the  works  of  his  contemporaries.  I  do  not 
think  that  they  have  any  place  whatsoever  in  the  history 
or  development  either  of  music  or  of  that  form  called  the 
sonata. 

The  development  of  the  suite  from  dance  forms  has 
already  been  shown,  and  we  will  now  trace  the  develop- 
ment of  the  sonata  from  the  suite  in  Italy,  Germany,  and 
France  As  an  example  of  this  development  in  Italy,  a 
so-called  sonata  by  G.  B.  Pescetti  will  serve  (the  sonatas 
by  Domenico  Scarlatti  were  not  originally  so  named,  and 
the  sonatas  before  that  were  simply  short  pieces,  so  desig- 
nated to  distinguish  them  from  dance  music).  This  sonata 
was  published  about  1730,  and  was  one  of  nine.  The  first 
movement  is  practically  of  the  allemande  type,  and  its 
first  period  ends  in  the  dominant  key.     There  is  but  the 


196  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL   ESSAYS 

slightest  trace  of  a  second  theme  in  the  first  part;  yet 
the  improvement  in  contrapuntal  design  over  the  suites 
is  evident.  The  second  movement  is  in  the  same  key,  and 
retains  the  characteristic  rhythm  of  the  sarabande;  at  the 
end,  the  improvement,  so  far  as  design  is  concerned,  is 
very  noticeable.  The  last  movement,  still  in  the  same 
key,  is  a  gigue,  thus  keeping  well  in  the  shadow  of  the 
suite. 

A  sonata  by  the  German  Rolle  (1718-1785)  is  valuable 
in  that  it  shows  a  very  decided  second  theme  in  the  first 
period,  thus  tending  toward  the  development  of  the 
original  simple  dance  form  into  the  more  complex  sonata 
form.  The  adagio,  however,  still  has  the  sarabande  char- 
acteristics, and  foreshadows  many  things.  It  contains 
many  words  that  later  were  shaped  into  great  poems  by 
others.  "  The  Erlking  "  of  Schubert  is  especially  hinted 
at,  just  as  the  first  movement  was  prophetic  of  Beethoven. 
In  the  last  movement  we  have  the  gigue  rhythm  again. 

In  France,  music  had  become  merely  a  court  appendage, 
as  was  the  case  with  the  other  arts,  and  had  long  served 
as  a  means  for  showing  the  divine  grace  with  which 
Louis  XIV  or  XV  could  turn  out  his  toes  in  the  minuet. 
In  addition  to  this,  the  arranging  of  a  scientific  system  of 
harmonization  by  Rameau  (1683-1764)  (which,  by  the 
way,  is  the  basis  of  most  of  the  treatises  of  harmony  of  the 
present  century),  caused  the  few  French  composers  who 
could  make  headway  against  the  prevailing  Italian  opera 
after  Lully  to  turn  their  attention  away  from  polyphonic 
writing;  and  having,  after  all,  but  little  to  express  in  other 
than  the  long-accustomed  dance  rhythms  and  tunes,  their 


MERGING  THE  SUITE  INTO  THE  SONATA      1 97 

music  cannot  be  said  to  have  made  any  mark  in  the  world. 
In  order  to  show  the  poverty  of  this  style,  let  us  take  a 
sonata  by  Mehul  (1763-18 17).  The  first  movement  has 
already  a  well-defined  second  theme,  but  otherwise  is  a 
mere  collection  of  more  or  less  commonplace  progressions. 
The  second^part  is  a  dance  tune,  pure  and  simple;  indeed 
the  first  part  had  all  the  characteristics  of  the  farandole 
(see  Bizet's  "  I'Arlesienne  ")•  The  last  part  is  entitled 
rondo,  "  a  round  dance,"  and  is  evidently  one  in  the  literal 
sense  of  the  word.  In  all  these  sonatas  the  increasing  use 
of  what  is  called  the  Alberti  bass  is  noticeable. 

To  show  the  last  link  between  the  suite  and  the  sonata, 
reference  may  be  made  to  the  well-known  sonata  in  D 
major  by  Haydn.  In  this,  as  in  those  analyzed  above, 
all  the  movements  are  in  the  same  key.  The  adagio  is  a 
sarabande,  and  the  last  movement  has  the  characteristics 
of  the  gigue.  This,  however,  is  only  the  starting  point 
with  Haydn;  later  we  will  consider  the  development  of 
this  form  into  what  is  practically  our  modern  sonata, 
which,  of  course,  includes  the  symphony,  quartet,  quin- 
tet, concerto,  etc. 

Our  path  of  study  in  tracing  the  development  of  the 
sonata  from  the  suite  leads  us  through  a  sterile  tract  of 
seemingly  bare  desert.  The  compositions  referred  to  are 
full  of  fragments,  sometimes  fine  in  themselves,  but  lying 
wherever  they  happened  to  fall,  their  sculptors  having 
no  perception  of  their  value  one  with  another.  Discon- 
nected phrases,  ideas  never  completed;  to  quote  Hamlet, 
"Words,  words!"  Later  we  find  Beethoven  and  Schu- 
bert constructing  wonderful  temples  out  of  these  same 


iqS        critical  and  historical  essays 

fragments,  and  shaping  these  same  words  into  marvellous 

tone  poems. 

The  music  of  the  period  we  have  been  considering  is 

well  described  by  Browning  in  "  A  Toccata  of  Galuppi's  ": 

• 
Yes  you,  like  a  ghostly  cricket, 

Creaking  where  a  house  was  burned: 
Dust  and  ashes,  dead  and  done  with, 
Venice  spent  what  Venice  earned. 


XV 
THE   DEVELOPMENT  OF   PIANOFORTE   MUSIC 

Up  to  the  time  of  Beethoven,  music  for  the  pianoforte 
consisted  mainly  of  programme  music  of  the  purely  de- 
scriptive order,  that  is  to  say,  it  was  generally  imitative 
of  natural  or  artificial  externals.  To  be  sure,  if  we  go 
back  to  the  old  clavecinists,  and  examine  the  sonatas  of 
Kuhnau,  sundry  pieces  by  Couperin,  Rameau,  and  the 
Germans,  Froberger,  C.  P.  E.  Bach  and  others,  we  find 
the  beginnings  of  that  higher  order  of  programme  music 
which  deals  directly  with  the  emotions;  and  not  only  that, 
but  which  aims  at  causiAg  the  hearer  to  go  beyond  the 
actual  sounds  heard,  in^  purstiafi<;e,^of  a  train  of  thought 
primarily  suggested  by  this  music. 

To  find  this  art  of  programme  music,  as  we  may  call  it, 
brought  to  a  full  flower,  we  must  seek  in  the  mystic  utter- 
ances of  Robert  Schumann.  It  is  wise  to  keep  in  mind, 
however,  that  although  Schumann's  piano  music  certainly 
answers  to  our  definition  of  the  higher  programme  music, 
it  also  marks  the  dividing  Une  between  emotional  pro- 
gramme music  without  a  well-defined  object  and  that 
dramatically  emotional  art  which  we  have  every  reason  to 
beUeve  was  aimed  at  by  Beethoven  in  many  of  his  sonatas, 
and  which,  in  its  logical  development  and  broadened  out 

199 


A 


200  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

by  orchestral  colours  and  other  resources,  is  championed 
by  Richard  Strauss  at  the  present  day. 

We  have  already  learned  that  C.  P.  E.  Bach  had  entirely 
broken  with  the  contrapuntal  style  of  his  father  and  his 
age  in  order  to  gain  freer  utterance,  and  that  the  word 
"  colour  "  began  to  be  used  in  his  time  in  connection  with 
music  for  even  one  instrument.  It  is,  perhaps,  needless 
to  say  that  the  vastly  enlarged  possibilities,  both  technical 
and  tonal,  of  the  newly  invented  forte- piano  were  largely 
the  outcome  of  this  seeking  for  colour  in  music.  In 
addition  to  this,  the  new  art  of  harmonic  dissonances  was 
already  beginning  to  stretch  out  in  the  direction  of  new 
and  strange  tonal  combinations,  thus  giving  to  the  music 
written  for  the  instrument  many  new  possibilities  in  the 
way  of  causing  and  depicting  emotions.  That  the  first 
experiments  were  puerile,  we  know,  as,  for  example, 
Haydn's  attempts,  in  one  of  his  pianoforte  sonatas,  to 
suggest  the  conversion  of  an  obdurate  sinner. 

When  we  consider  Mozart,  it  is  impossible  to  forget  the 
fact  that  in  his  piano  works  he  was  first  and  foremost  a 
piano  virtuoso,  a  child  prodigy,  of  whom  filigree  work  was 
expected  by  the  pubUc  for  which  he  wrote  his  sonatas. 
(We  cannot  call  this  orientaUsm,  for  it  was  more  or  less 
of  German  pattern,  traced  from  the  fioriture  of  the  Itahan 
opera  singer.)  Therefore,  emotional  utterance  or  even 
new  or  poetic  colouring  was  not  to  be  expected  of  him. 

As  has  been  said  before,  it  remained  for  Beethoven  to 
weld  these  new  words  and  strange  colours  into  poems, 
which,  notwithstanding  the  many  barnacles  hanging  to 
them  (remnants  of  a  past  of  timid  adhesion  to  forms  and 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  PIANOFORTE  MUSIC        201 

fashions),  are,  in  truth,  the  first  lofty  and  dignified  musical 
utterances  with  an  object  which  we  possess.  I  mean  by  this 
statement  that  his  art  was  the  first  to  cast  aside  the  iron 
fetters  of  what  then  formed  the  canons  of  art.  The  latter 
may  be  described  (even  in  reference  to  modern  days)  as 
constituting  the  shadow  of  a  great  man.  And,  although 
this  is  a  digression,  I  may  add  that  all  students  of  piano 
music  no  doubt  reaHze  the  weighty  shadow  that  Bee- 
thoven cast  over  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
just  as  Wagner  is  doing  at  the  present  time. 

Our  purists  are  imable  to  realize  that  the  shadows  are 
the  least  vital  part  of  the  great  men  who  cast  them.  We 
remember  that  the  only  wish  expressed  by  Diogenes  when 
Alexander  came  to  see  him  was  that  the  king  should  stand 
aside  so  that  he  could  enjoy  the  Ught  of  the  sun. 

To  return:  We  find  that  Beethoven  was  the  first  ex- 
ponent of  our  modern  art.  Every  revolution  is  bound  to 
bring  with  it  a  reaction  which  seeks  to  consoUdate  and 
put  in  safe  keeping,  as  it  were,  results  attained  by  it. 
Certainly  Beethoven  alone  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 
furthered  this  end;  for  his  revolt  led  him  into  still  more 
remote  and  involved  trains  of  thought,  as  in  his  later 
sonatas  and  quartets.  Even  the  Ninth  Symphony,  ham- 
pered as  it  is  by  actual  words  for  which  declamation 
and  a  more  or  less  well-defined  form  of  musical  speech  are 
necessary,  suffers  from  the  same  involved  utterance  that 
characterizes  his  last  period. 

Schubert,  in  his  instrumental  work,  was  too  ardent  a 
seeker  and  lover  of  the  purely  beautiful  to  build  upon  the 
forms  of  past  generations,  and  thus  his  piano  music, 


202  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

neither  restrained  nor  supported  by  poetic  declamation, 
was  never  held  within  the  bounds  of  formalism. 

It  was  Mendelssohn  who  first  invested  old  and  seemingly 
worn-out  forms  of  instnmiental  music  (especially  for  the 
pianoforte)  with  the  new  poetic  license  of  speech,  which 
was  essentially  the  spirit  of  the  age  of  revolution  in  which 
he  hved. 

In  holding  up  Mendelssohn  as  a  formalist  against  Bee- 
thoven, and  at  the  same  time  presenting  him  as  the  com- 
poser directly  responsible  for  our  modern  symphonic 
poem,  there  is  a  seeming  contradiction,  which,  however, 
is  more  apparent  than  real.  While  Beethoven  never 
hesitated  to  overturn  form  (harmonic  or  otherwise)  to 
suit  the  exigencies  of  his  inspiration,  Mendelssohn  cast 
all  his  pictures  into  well-defined  and  orthodox  forms. 
Thus  his  symphonic  poems,  for  example,  the  overtures  to 
"  The  Lovely  Melusina,"  "  Fingal's  Cave,"  "  Ruy  Bias," 
etc.,  are  really  overtures  in  form;  whereas,  the  so-called 
"  Moonlight  "  sonata  of  Beethoven,  as  well  as  many  others, 
are  sonatas  only  in  name.  The  emotional  and  problem- 
atic significance  given  by  Mendelssohn  to  many  of  his 
shorter  piano  pieces,  including  even  such  works  as  preludes 
and  fugues,  is  familiar  to  us  all.  These  works,  however, 
but  rarely  departed  from  the  orthodox  forms  represented 
by  their  names.  His  "  Songs  without  Words  "  have  been 
so  often  quoted  as  constituting  a  new  art  form  that  it  is 
well  to  remember  that  they  are  practically  all  cast  in  the 
same  mould,  that  of  the  mpst^imple  song  form,  with  one, 
and  sometimes  two  more  or  less  similar  verses,  preceded 
by  a  short  introduction  and  ending  with  a  coda. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  PIANOFORTE  MUSIC        203 

We  may  say  then,  broadly,  that  Beethoven  invested 
instrumental  music  with  a  wonderful  poignancy  and  power 
of  expression,  elevating  it  to  the  point  of  being  the  medium 
of  expressing  some  of  the  greatest  thoughts  we  possess. 
In  so  doing,  however,  he  shattered  many  of  the  great 
idols  of  formalism  by  the  sheer  violence  of  his  expression. 

Schubert,  let  me  say  again,  seemed  indifferent  to 
symmetry,  or  never  thought  of  it  in  his  piano  music. 
Mendelssohn,  possibly  influenced  by  his  early  severe 
training  with  Zelter,  accepted  symmetry  of  form  as  the 
cornerstone  of  his  musical  edifice;  although  he  was  one 
of  the  first  in  the  realms  of  avowed  programme  music, 
he  never  carried  it  beyond  the  boundary  of  good  form. 
And,  as  in  speaking  a  moment  ago  of  the  so-called  canons 
of  musical  art,  we  compared  them  with  the  shadows  that 
great  men  have  cast  upon  their  times,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  remember  that  just  this  formaUsm  of  Mendelssohn 
overshadowed  and  still  overshadows  England  to  the 
present  day.  On  the  other  hand,  Beethoven's  last  style 
still  shows  itself  in  Brahms,  and  even  in  Richard  Strauss. 
Schumann  was  different  from  these  three.  His  music  is 
not  avowed  programme  music;  neither  is  it,  as  is  much 
of  Schubert's,  pure  delight  in  beautiful  melodies  and 
soimds.  It  did  not  break  through  formalism  by  sheer 
violence  of  emotion,  as  did  Beethoven's;  least  of  all  has  it 
Mendelssohn's  orthodox  dress.  It  represents,  as  well  as  I 
can  put  it,  the  rhapsodical  reverie  of  a  great  poet  to  whom 
nothing  seems  strange,  and  who  has  the  faculty  of  relating 
his  visions,  never  attempting  to  give  them  coherence, 
until,  perhaps,  when  awakened  from  his  dream,  he  naively 


204  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

wonders  what  they  may  have  meant.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  Schumann  added  titles  to  his  music  after  it 
was  composed. 

To  all  of  this  new,  strange  music,  Liszt  and  Chopin 
added  the  wonderful  tracery  of  orientalism.  As  I  have 
said  before,  the  difference  between  these  two  is  that  with 
Chopin  this  tracery  enveloped  poetic  thought  as  with  a 
thin  gauze;  whereas  with  Liszt,  the  embellishment  itself 
made  the  starting  point  for  almost  a  new  art  in  tonal 
combination,  the  effects  of  which  are  seen  on  every  hand 
to-day.  To  realize  its  influence,  one  need  only  compare 
the  graceful  arabesques  of  the  most  simple  piano  piece 
of  to-day  with  the  awkward  and  gargoyle-like  figuration 
of  Beethoven  and  his  predecessors.  We  may  justly 
attribute  this  to  Liszt  rather  than  to  Chopin,  whose 
nocturne  embellishments  are  but  first  cousins  to  those 
of  the  Englishman,  John  Field,  though  naturally  Chopin's 
PoUsh  temperament  gave  his  work  that  grace  and  pro- 
fusion of  design  which  we  have  called  orientalism. 


XVI 

THE  MYSTERY  AND   MIRACLE  PLAY 

It  is  interesting  to  recall  the  origin  of  our  words  "  treble  " 
and  "  discant."  The  latter  was  derived  from  the  first 
attempts  to  break  away  from  the  monotony  of  several 
persons  singing  the  same  melody  in  imison,  octaves, 
fifths,  or  fourths.  In  such  cases  the  original  melody  was 
called  cantiis  firmus  (a  term  still  generally  used  in  counter- 
point to  designate  the  given  melody  of  an  exercise  to 
which  the  student  is  to  write  other  parts),  the  new  melody 
that  was  sung  with  it  was  called  the  discant,  and  when 
a  third  part  was  added,  it  received  the  name  triplum 
or  treble.  As  Ambros  remarks,  this  forcible  welding  to- 
gether of  different  melodies,  often  well-known  old  times, 
secular  or  derived  from  the  church  chants,  was  on  a  direct 
line  with  the  contemporary  condition  of  the  other  arts. 
For  instance,  on  the  portal  to  the  left  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Saint  Mark,  at  Venice,  is  a  reUef,  representing  some  BibU- 
cal  scene,  which  is  entirely  made  up  of  fragments  of  some 
older  sculptured  figures,  placed  together  without  regard 
to  anatomy  in  much  the  same  brutal  fashion  that  the 
melodies  of  the  time  were  sung  together.  The  traces  of 
this  clumsy  music-making  extended  down  to  Palestrina's 
time,  and  became  the  germ  of  counterpoint,  canon,  and 

205 


2o6  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

fugue,  constituting  (apart  from  the  folk  song)  the  only 
music  known  at  that  time. 

This  music,  however,  very  soon  developed  into  two 
styles,  one  adopted  by  the  church,  the  other,  a  secular 
style,  furnishing  the  musical  texture  both  of  opera  and 
other  secular  music.  The  opera,  or  rather  the  art  form  we 
know  under  that  name  (for  the  name  itself  conveys 
nothing,  for  which  reason  Wagner  coined  the  term  "music 
drama  ")  broke  away  from  the  church  in  the  guise  of 
Mysteries,  as  they  were  called  in  mediaeval  times.  A 
Mystery  (of  which  our  modern  oratorio  is  the  direct 
descendant)  was  a  kind  of  drama  illustrating  some  sacred 
subject,  and  the  earliest  specimens  laid  the  foundation 
for  the  Greek  tragedy  and  comedy.  We  still  see  a  reUc 
of  this  primitive  art  form  in  the  Oberammergau  Passion 
Play. 

We  read  of  the  efforts  made,  as  early  as  the  fifth  century, 
to  hold  the  people  to  the  church;  among  other  devices 
employed  was  that  of  illustrating  the  subjects  of  the 
services  by  the  priests  performing  the  oflSces  being  dressed 
in  an  appropriate  costimie.  Little  by  Uttle  the  popular 
songs  of  the  people  crept  into  the  church  service  among 
the  regular  ecclesiastical  chants,  thus  foreshadowing  the 
beginnings  of  modern  opera;  for  after  a  while,  special  Latin 
texts  were  substituted  for  the  regular  service,  the  mimetic 
part  of  which  degenerated  into  the  most  extraordinary 
license  as,  for  instance,  in  the  "  Feast  of  Asses  **  Qan- 
uary  14)  which  may  be  called  a  burlesque  of  the  mass, 
and  which  has  been  described  in  a  former  chapter. 

With  this  mixture  of  the  vernacular  and  the  oflSdal 


THE   MYSTERY  AND   MIRACLE  PLAY  207 

Latin,*  these  Miracle  and  Passion  Plays,  as  well  as  the 
Mysteries  and  Morahties  (as  different  forms  of  this  ecclesi- 
astical mumming  were  called)  began  to  be  given  in  other 
places  besides  the  churches. 

In  addition  to  this  combination  of  singing  and  acting, 
the  tenson  or  poetic  debate  (which  was  one  form  of  the 
troubadour  songs,  and  one  very  often  acted  by  the  jong- 
leurs) probably  also  did  its  part  towards  giving  stability 
to  this  new  art  form.  The  earliest  specimen  of  it,  in  its 
purely  secular  aspect,  is  a  small  work  entitled  "  Robin  et 
Marian,"  by  Adam  de  la  Hale,  a  well-known  troubadour 
(called  "  the  humpback,"  bom  at  Arras  in  the  south  of 
France  in  1240),  who  followed  in  the  train  of  that  ferocious 
Duke  Charles  of  Anjou,  who  beheaded  Konradin,  the  last 
of  the  Hohenstaufens,  in  1268,  and  Manfred,  both  of  them 
minnesingers. 

As  the  Mystery  was  the  direct  ancestor  of  our  oratorio, 
so  was  the  little  pastoral  of  Adam  de  la  Hale  the  germ  of 
the  modem  French  vaudeville.  One  of  its  melodies  is 
said  to  be  sung  to  this  day  in  some  parts  of  southern 
France. 

The  entire  object  in  this  little  play  being  that  both 
words  and  action  should  be  perfectly  understood,  it  is 
obvious  that  as  Uttle  as  possible  should  be  going  on  dur- 

*  It  is  interesting  to  note  as  to  the  prevalence  of  Latin,  that 
Dante's  "  Divina  Commedia  "  was  the  first  important  poem  in  Ital- 
ian. Latin  was  used  on  the  stage  in  Italy  up  to  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury; the  stationary  chorus  stationed  on  the  stage  remained  until  the 
seventeenth  century  and  was  not  entirely  discontinued  until  the  first 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


2o8  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

ing  the  singing.  Thus,  such  melodies  as  we  find  in  these 
old  pastoral  plays  would  be  accompanied  by  short  notes, 
serving  merely  to  give  the  pitch  and  tonahty,  which  would 
gradually  develop  into  chords,  thus  laying  the  foundation 
for  harmony. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  look  at  the  "  church  play  " 
of  the  same  period,  the  Mystery,  and  remember  that  it 
was  sung  by  men  accustomed  to  singing  the  organum  of 
Hucbald,  we  have  a  clue  as  to  what  it  was  and  what  it  led 
up  to.  For  while  one  part  or  voice  of  the  music  would 
give  a  melody  (copied  from  or  at  any  rate  resembling  the 
Gregorian  chant  or  the  sequences  of  Notker  of  Tubilo), 
the  other  voices  would  sing  songs  in  the  vernacular,  and, 
strangest  of  all,  one  voice  would  repeat  some  Latin  word, 
or  even  a  "  nonsense  word"  (to  use  Edward  Lear's  term) 
but  much  more  slowly  than  the  other  voices.  Thus 
the  needs  of  the  Mystery  were  as  well  met  by  incipient 
counterpoint  on  the  one  hand,  as,  on  the  other,  the 
secular  song-play  engendered  the  sense  of  harmony. 

That  the  early  secular  forerunner  of  opera,  as  repre- 
sented by  "Robin  et  Marian,"  was  still,  to  a  certain  degree, 
controlled  by  the  church  is  clear  if  we  remember  that  at 
that  time  the  only  methods  of  noting  music  were  entirely 
in  the  hands  of  the  clergy.  The  notation  for  the  lute,  for 
instance,  was  invented  about  1460  to  1500.  Thus,  we 
can  say  that  the  recording  of  secular  music  was  not  free 
from  church  influence  imtil  some  time  after  the  sixteenth 
century. 

This  primitive  "  opera  "  music  was  thus  fettered  by 
diflBculty  of  notation  and  the  influence  of  the  ecclesiastical 


THE  MYSTERY  AND   MIRACLE  PLAY 


209 


rules  until  perhaps  about  1600,  when  the  first  real  opera 
began  to  find  a  place  in  Italy.  Jacopo  Peri  and  Caccini 
were  among  the  first  workers  in  the  comparatively  new 
form,  and  they  both  took  the  same  subject,  Eurydice. 
Of  the  former  the  following  two  short  excerpts  will  suffice; 
the  first  is  where  Orpheus  bewails  his  fate;  in  the  second 
he  expresses  his  joy  at  bringing  Eurydice  back  to  earth. 
Caccini's  opera  was  perhaps  the  first  to  introduce  the 
many  useless  ornaments  that,  up  to  the  middle  of  this 
century,  were  characteristic  of  Italian  opera. 


EURYDICE  — PERI. 
Orpheus  bewailing  his  fate. 


^^i^i^ 


^ 


I   weep       not,  I       am    not    sigh  -  ing,        tho'   thou    art 


^E3k^^ 


^-J-J—^^i^ 


.  .  .         from  me     tak    -  en.  What    use      to        sigh 

Orpheus'  joy  in  bringing  back  Eurydice. 


^ 

^ 


^ 


Gio    -     i-te         al        can    -  to        mio        ser    -    ve      fron  -  do 


3:5: 


chein     su       I'au        ro 


XVII 
OPERA 

No  art  form  is  so  fleeting  and  so  subject  to  the  dictates  of 
fashion  as  opera.  It  has  always  been  the  plaything  of 
fashion,  and  suffers  from  its  changes.  To-day  the  stilted 
figures  of  Hasse,  Pergolesi,  Rameau,  and  even  Gluck, 
seem  as  grotesque  to  us  as  the  wigs  and  buckles  of  their 
contemporaries.  To  Palestrina's  masses  and  madrigals, 
Rameau's  and  Couperin's  clavecin  pieces,  and  all  of  Bach, 
we  can  still  listen  without  this  sense  of  incongruity.  On 
the  other  hand,  operas  of  Alessandro  Scarlatti,  Matheson, 
and  Porpora  would  bore  us  unmitigatedly.  They  have 
gone  out  of  fashion.  Even  the  modem  successors  of  these 
men,  Bellini,  Donizetti,  and  Verdi,  in  his  earlier  years, 
have  become  dead  letters  musically,  although  only  as  late 
as  1845,  Donizetti  was  at  the  very  zenith  of  his  fame. 

Of  all  the  operas  of  the  past  century,  our  present  public 
has  not  seen  or  even  heard  of  one,  with  the  exception  of 
"  The  Magic  Flute,"  and  less  probably  "  Don  Juan." 
This  is  bad  enough;  but  if  we  look  at  works  belonging  to 
the  first  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  we  find  the  same 
state  of  affairs.  The  operas  of  Spontini,  Rossini,  most  of 
Meyerbeer's,  even  Weber's  "  Freischutz,"  have  passed 
away,  seemingly  never  to  return.  Even  "  Cavalleria 
Rusticana,"   of  recent  creation,  is  falling   rapidly  into 


OPERA  211 

oblivion.  Thus  the  opera  comique  early  disappeared  in 
favour  of  the  romantic  opera  and  the  operetta.  The 
former  has  already  nearly  ended  its  career,  and  the  latter 
has  descended  to  the  level  of  mere  farce.  In  the  course  of 
time,  these  opera  forms  become  more  and  more  evanes- 
cent; for  the  one-act  opera  of  miniature  tragedy,  which  is 
practically  only  a  few  years  old,  is  already  almost  extinct. 

And  yet  this  art  form  has  vastly  more  hold  on  the  pub- 
lic than  other  music  destined  to  outhve  it.  The  fact  is, 
that  music  which  is  tied  down  to  the  conventionalities 
and  moods  of  its  time  and  place  can  never  appeal  but  to 
the  particular  time  and  mood  which  gave  it  birth.  (In- 
cidentally, I  may  say  the  same  of  music  having  its  roots 
in  the  other  peculiarities  of  folk  song.) 

Now  the  writers  of  these  operas  were  great  men  who 
put  their  best  into  their  work;  the  cause  of  the  failure  of 
these  operas  was  not  on  account  of  the  music,  but  the 
ideas  and  thoughts  with  which  this  music  was  saddled. 
What  were  the  books  which  people  read  and  loved  in  those 
days  (1750-1800),  that  is,  books  upon  which  operas  might 
be  built?  In  England  we  find  "  The  Castle  of  Otranto," 
"  The  Mysterious  Mother,"  etc.,  by  Horace  Walpole. 
Now  Macaulay  says  that  Horace  Walpole's  works  rank 
as  high  among  the  delicacies  of  intellectual  epicures  as 
the  Strasburg  pie  among  the  dishes  described  in  the 
Almanack  des  Gourmands.  None  but  an  vuihealthy  and 
disorganized  mind  could  have  produced  such  hterary 
luxuries  as  the  works  of  Walpole. 

France  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  empty  formalism 
of  the  preceding  century,  Bemardin  de  St  Pierre  was 


212  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

a  kind  of  colonial  Mile.  Scudery,  and  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau,  one  of  the  sparks  which  were  to  ignite  the  French 
Revolution,  writes  his  popular  opera  to  the  silly  story  of 
"  The  Village  Soothsayer."  Had  not  Gluck  written  to  the 
classics  he  would  have  had  to  write  "  a  la  Watteau." 

In  Germany,  conditions  were  better;  for  the  so-called 
Romantic  school  had  just  begim  to  make  headway.  In 
opera,  however,  this  school  of  Romanticism  only  com- 
menced to  make  itself  felt  later,  when  we  have  a  crop  of 
operas  on  Fouque's  "  Undine  "  as  well  as  "  Hofmann's 
Tales." 

It  is  as  though  opera  had  to  dress  according  to  the 
prevailing  fashion  of  the  day.  The  very  large  sleeves 
of  one  year  look  strange  to  us  a  little  later.  Just  so  is  it 
with  opera;  for  those  old  operas  by  Mehul,  Spontini, 
Salieri,  and  others  all  wear  enormous  crinolines,  while  the 
contemporary  instrumental  works  of  the  same  period, 
unfettered  by  fashion,  still  possess  all  the  freedom  which 
their  limited  speech  permitted  them  to  have.  Thus  we 
see  that  opera  is  necessarily  a  child  of  the  times  in  which 
it  is  written,  in  contrast  to  other  music  which  echoes  but 
the  thought  of  the  composer,  thought  that  is  not  neces- 
sarily bound  down  to  any  time,  place,  or  pectdiarity  of 
diction. 

In  Germany,  Italian  opera  was  never  accepted  by  the 
people  as  it  was  in  France.  In  the  latter  coimtry,  opera 
had  to  be  in  the  vernacular  and  practically  to  become 
French.  Lully's  operas  were  written  to  libretti  by  Quin- 
ault  and  Comeille;  and  while,  as  early  as  1645,  Paris 
imported  its  opera  from  Italy,  this  art  form  was  rapidly 


OPERA  213 

modified  to  suit  the  public  for  which  it  was  secured. 
Even  with  Picdni  and  Gluck,  and  down  to  Rossini  and 
Meyerbeer,  this  nationalism  was  infused  into  the  foreign 
product.  In  Germany  the  case  was  entirely  different, 
for  up  to  the  very  last,  Italian  opera  was  a  thing  apart. 
Although  German  composers,  such  as  Mozart  and  Paer, 
wrote  Itahan  opera,  the  "  Singspiel  "  (a  kind  of  opera 
comique),  foimd  its  culminating  point  in  Weber's  "  Frei- 
schutz,"  which  fought  against  Rossini's  operas  for  suprem- 
acy in  Germany. 

Gluck's  victory  over  the  Piccinists  gave  to  the  French 
form  of  Italian  opera  an  impetus  that  caused  Cherubini 
to  proceed  on  almost  the  same  Hnes  in  his  operas,  the 
"  Water  Carrier,"  etc.  Cherubini  was  a  pupil  of  Andreas 
Sarti,  a  celebrated  contrapuntist  and  a  disciple  of  the  last 
of  the  Italian  church ,  composers  who  looked  back  to 
Palestrina  for  inspiration.  Thus  the  infusion  of  a  certain \ 
soberness  of  diction,  which  we  call  German,  fitted  in  with 
the  man's  training  and  predilections. 

The  first  names  we  meet  with  in  French  opera  after 
Cherubini  are  those  of  Gretry,  Mehul,  and  Spontini. 
The  former  was  a  Frenchman  whose  works  are  now 
obsolete,  although  Macfarren,  in  the  "  Encyclopedia 
Brittanica,"  says  that  he  is  the  only  French  composer 
of  symphonies  that  are  known  and  enjoy  popularity  in 
France. 

Gretry  was  bom  in  Liege,  about  1740.  He  walked  to 
Italy,  studied  in  Rome,  and  returned  to  France  about  1770. 
None  of  his  works  have  come  down  to  us,  but  his  name  is 
interesting  by  reason  of   a  certain  contradiction  in  his 


214  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

operas.  This  contradiction  consists  in  his  being  one  of  the 
first  to  revive  the  idea  of  the  hidden  orchestra;  it  is  inter- 
esting also  to  note  that  in  his  "  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion," 
he  anticipated  Wagner's  use  of  the  leitmotiv.  His  words 
on  the  hidden  orchestra  sound  strangely  modern: 

Plan  for  a  New  Theatre.  —  I  should  like  the  auditorium  of 
my  theatre  to  be  small,  holding  at  the  most  one  thousand  persons 
and  consisting  of  a  sort  of  open  space,  without  boxes,  small  or  great; 
for  these  nooks  only  encourage  talking  and  scandal.  I  would  like 
the  orchestra  to  be  concealed,  so  that  neither  the  musicians  nor  the 
lights  on  their  music  stands  could  be  visible  to  the  spectators. 

Mehul  was  born  about  1763  in  the  south  of  France, 
and  is  celebrated,  among  other  things,  as  being  a  pupil 
of  Gluck,  in  Paris.  He  was  also  noted  for  having,  at 
the  request  of  Napoleon,  brought  out  an  opera  based  on 
Macpherson's  "  Ossian,"  in  which  no  violins  were  used 
in  the  orchestra.  "  Joseph,"  another  opera  of  his,  is 
occasionally  given  in  small  German  towns.  M6hul  died 
in  1817. 

Spontini,  the  next  representative  of  opera  in  France, 
was  an  Italian,  born  in  1774.  He  went  to  Paris  in  1803, 
where,  through  the  influence  of  the  Empress  Josephine, 
he  was  enabled  to  have  several  small  operas  performed; 
finally  in  1807  his  "  Vestal,"  written  to  a  French  text, 
was  given  with  great  success.  In  this,  his  greatest  work, 
he  followed  Cluck's  footsteps,  not  only  in  the  music,  but 
also  in  the  choice  of  a  classic  subject.  In  1809,  he  branched 
out  into  a  more  romantic  vein  with  the  opera  of  "  Fer- 
nando Cortez,"  His  other  works  never  attained  popu- 
larity.   After  the  Restoration  in  France,  he  was  named 


OPERA  215 

director  of  the  court  music  in  Berlin  by  the  King  of 
Prussia,  at  an  annual  salary  of  ten  thousand  thalers 
(about  $7,500),  a  position  he  held  from  1820  to  1840. 
He  died  in  Italy  in  1851.  Spontini  may  be  said  to  have 
been  the  last  representative  of  the  Gluck  opera;  but  he 
also  brought  into  it  all  the  magnificence  in  scenery,  etc., 
that  would  naturally  be  expected  by  the  fashion  of  the 
First  Empire.  He  made  no  innovations,  and  merely 
served  to  keep  alive  the  traditions  of  Grand  Opera  in 
France. 

The  next  powerful  influence  in  France,  and  indeed  in 
all  Europe,  was  that  of  Rossini.  He  may  be  said  to  have 
built  on  Gluck's  ideas  in  many  ways.  Born  in  1792,  at 
Pesaro,  in  Italy,  he  wrote  many  operas  of  the  flimsy 
ItaHan  style  while  still  a  boy.  At  twenty-one  he  had 
already  written  his  "  Tancredi  "  and  the  opera  buffa, 
"  The  Itahans  in  Algiers."  His  best  work  (besides  "  Wil- 
liam Tell  ")  was  "  The  Barber  of  Seville."  Other  works 
are  "  Cinderella  "  {La  Cenerentola) ,  "  The  Thieving  Black- 
bird "  {La  Gazza  Ladra),  "  Moses,"  and  "  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake."  These  operas  were  mostly  made  up  of  parts 
of  others  that  were  failures,  a  la  Hasse.  An  engagement 
being  offered  him  in  London,  he  went  there  with  his  wife, 
and  in  one  season  they  earned  about  two  hundred  thousand 
francs,  which  laid  the  foimdation  for  his  future  prosperity. 

The  next  year  he  went  to  Paris,  where,  after  a  few  un- 
important works,  he  produced  "  WiUiam  Tell "  with 
tremendous  success  (1829).  Although  he  Hved  until  1868, 
he  never  wrote  for  the  operatic  stage  again,  his  other  works 
being  mainly  the  well-known  "  Stabat  Mater  "  and  some 


2l6  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

choruses.  He  was  essentially  a  writer  of  light  opera, 
although  "  WilUam  Tell  "  has  many  elevated  moments. 
His  style  was  so  entirely  warped  by  his  love  for  show  and 
the  \irtuoso  side  of  singing  that  the  many  real  beauties 
of  his  music  are  hardly  recognizable.  His  music  is  so 
overiaden  with  fioriture  that  often  its  very  considerable 
value  is  obscured.  He  had  absolutely  no  influence  upon 
German  music,  for  the  Germans,  from  Beethoven  down, 
despised  the  flimsy  style  and  aims  of  this  man,  who,  by 
appealing  to  the  most  unmusical  side  of  the  fashionable 
audiences  of  Europe,  did  so  much  to  discourage  the  pro- 
duction of  operas  vdth.  a  lofty  aim.  In  France,  however, 
his  influence  was  unchallenged,  and  we  may  almost  say 
that,  with  few  exceptions,  the  overture  to  "  William  Tell  " 
served  as  a  model  for  all  other  operatic  overtures  which 
have  been  written  there  up  to  the  present  day.  We  have 
only  to  look  at  the  many  overtures  by  Herold,  Boieldieu, 
Auber,  and  others,  to  see  the  influence  exerted  by  this 
style  of  overture,  which  consisted  of  a  slow  introduction, 
followed  by  a  more  or  less  sentimental  melody,  followed 
in  turn  by  a  galop  as  a  coda. 

So  fashionable  had  this  kind  of  thing  become  that  even 
Weber  was  slightly  touched  by  it.  In  the  meanwhile,  the 
French  composers  were  producing  operas  of  a  smaller 
kind,  but,  in  many  ways,  of  a  better  character  than  the 
larger  works  of  Rossini,  Spontini,  and  their  followers. 
Had  this  flimsy  ItaUan  influence  been  lacking,  doubtless 
French  opera  to-day  would  be  a  different  thing  from  what 
it  actually  is.  For  these  smaller  operas  by  Herold,  Auber, 
and  Boieldieu  had  many  points  in  common  with  the 


OPERA  217 

German  Singspiel,  which  may  be  said  to  have  saved 
German  musical  art  for  Wagner. 

What  might  have  developed  imder  better  conditions  is 
shown  in  a  work  by  Halevy  entitled,  "  La  jnive,"  in  which 
is  to  be  foimd  promise  of  a  great  school  of  opera,  a  promise 
unhappily  stifled  by  the  advent  of  an  eclectic,  the  Ger- 
man Meyerbeer,  who  blinded  the  public  with  unheard 
of  magnificence  of  staging,  just  as  Rossini  before  him  had 
bUnded  it  by  novel  technical  feats.  Meyerbeer  thus  drew 
the  art  into  a  new  channel,  and,  unluckily,  this  new  tend- 
ency was  not  so  much  in  the  direction  of  elevation  of 
style  as  in  sensationalism. 

To  return  to  the  French  composers.  Herold  was  bom 
in  1791,  in  Paris,  and  his  principal  works  were  "  Zampa  " 
and  the  "  Pre  aux  clercs."  The  first  was  produced  in 
1 83 1,  the  latter  in  1832.  He  died  in  1833.  Boieldieu  was 
born  in  1775,  in  Rouen;  died  1834.  His  principal  works 
were  "  La  dame  blanche  "  and  "  Jean  de  Paris." 

Halevy  (Levy)  was  born  in  1799,  in  Paris,  and  died  in 
1862;  his  father  was  a  Bavarian  and  his  mother  from 
Lorraine.  He  wrote  innimierable  operas.  His  most 
famous  work,  "  La  juive,"  written  in  1835,  was  killed  by 
Meyerbeer's  "  Huguenots,"  and  produced  a  year  later. 
He  was  professor  of  counterpoint  at  the  Conservatoire 
from  183 1,  among  his  pupils  being  Gounod,  Masse,  Bazin, 
and  Bizet. 

Auber  was  bom  in  1782,  and  died  in  May,  1871.  He 
was  practically  the  last  of  the  essentially  French  composers. 
His  operas  may  be  summed  up  as  being  the  perfect  trans- 
lation into  music  of  the  witty  plays  of  Scribe,  with  whom 


2l8  CRITICAL  AND   fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

he  was  associated  all  his  life.  To  read  a  comedy  by 
Scribe  is  to  imagine  Auber's  music  to  it.  No  one  has 
excelled  Auber  in  the  expression  of  all  the  finesse  of  wit 
and  Ughtness  of  touch.  What  the  union  between  the  two 
men  was  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  Scribe  wrote 
many  of  his  hbrettos  to  Auber's  music,  the  latter  being 
written  first,  Scribe  then  adding  the  words.  His  principal 
works  are  "  Masaniello  "  or  "  The  Mute,"  and  "  Fra 
Diavolo."  He  was  appointed  director  of  the  Paris  Con- 
V       servatoire,  in  1842,  in  succession  to  Cherubini. 

In  speaking  of  Gretry,  I  quoted  his  opinion  (given  in 
one  of  his  essays  on  music)  as  to  what  opera  should  be 
and  cited  his  use  of  the  leitmotiv  in  his  "  Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion  "  (which  contains  the  air,  une  fievre  brUlante). 
If  with  this  we  quote  his  reasons  for  writing  opera  com- 
ique  rather  than  grand  opera,  we  have  one  of  the  reasons 
why  French  opera  has,  as  yet,  never  developed  beyond 
Massenet's  "  Roi  de  Lahore  "  on  one  side,  and  Dehbes' 
"  Lakme  "  on  the  other. 

Gretry  writes  that  he  introduced  lyric  comedy  on  the 
stage  because  the  public  was  tired  of  tragedy,  and  because 
he  had  heard  so  many  lovers  of  dancing  complain  that 
their  favourite  art  played  only  a  subordinate  role  in  grand 
opera.  Also  the  public  loved  to  hear  short  songs;  there- 
fore he  introduced  many  such  into  his  operas. 

Even  nowadays,  this  seeming  contradiction  between 
theory  and  practice  is  to  be  found,  I  think,  in  the  French 
successors  of  Meyerbeer.  The  pubhc  needed  dancing, 
and  all  theories  must  bend  to  that  wish.  Even  Wagner 
succumbed  to  this  influence  in  Paris;  and  when  Weber's 


OPERA  219 

"  Freischiitz  "  was  first  given  at  the  grand  opera,  Ber- 
lioz was  commissioned  to  arrange  ballet  music  from 
Weber's  piano  works  to  supply  the  deficiency. 

In  France,  even  to-day,  everything  gives  way  to  the  pub- 
lic, a  public  whose  intelhgence  from  a  poetic  standpoint 
is,  in  my  opinion,  lower  than  that  of  any  other  country. 
The  French  composer  is  dependent  on  his  cotmtry  (Paris) 
as  is  no  musician  of  other  nationality.  Berlioz'  life  was 
embittered  by  the  want  of  recognition  in  Paris.  Al- 
though he  had  been  acclaimed  as  a  great  musician  all  over 
Europe,  yet  he  returned  again  and  again  to  Paris,  pre- 
ferring (as  he  admits)  the  approbation  of  its  musically 
worthless  public  to  his  otherwise  world-wide  fame. 

We  remember  that  Auber  never  stirred  out  of  Paris 
throughout  his  long  life.  It  was  an  article  in  the  Gaz- 
ette Musicale  of  Paris  which  was  instrumental  in  calHng 
Gounod  back  into  the  world  from  his  intended  priestly 
vocation.  And  this  influence  of  the  admittedly  ignorant 
and  superficial  French  public  is  the  more  remarkable  when 
one  considers  the  fact  that  it  was  always  the  last  to  admit 
the  value  of  the  best  work  of  its  composers.  Thus  Ber- 
lioz' fame  was  gained  in  Russia  and  Germany  while  he 
was  still  derided  and  comparatively  imknown  in  Paris. 

The  failure  of  Bizet's  "  Carmen  "  is  said  to  have  has- 
tened the  composer's  death,  which  took  place  within  three 
months  after  the  first  performance  of  the  opera.  As  Saint- 
Saens  wrote  at  the  time,  in  his  disgust  at  the  French  public: 
"  The  fat,  ugly  bourgeois  riuninates  in  his  padded  stall, 
regretting  separation  from  his  kind.  He  half  opens  a 
glassy  eye,  mimches  a  bonbon,  then  sleeps  again,  thinking 


220  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

that  the  orchestra  is  a-tuning."  And  yet,  even  Saint- 
Saens,  whose  name  became  known  chiefly  through  Liszt's 
help,  and  whose  operas  and  symphonies  were  given  in 
Germany  before  they  were  known  in  France,  even  he  is 
one  of  the  most  ardent  adherents  to  the  "  anti-foreigner  " 
cry  in  France.  In  my  opinion,  this  respect  for  and  attempt 
to  please  this  grossly  ignorant  French  pubhc  is  and 
has  been  one  of  the  great  devitaUzing  influences  which 
hamper  the  French  composer. 

Charles  Goimod  was  born  in  1818,  in  Paris.  His  father 
was  an  engraver  and  died  when  Gounod  was  very  yoimg. 
The  boy  received  his  first  miviic  lessons  from  his  mother. 
He  was  admitted  to  the  Conservatoire  at  sixteen,  and 
studied  with  Halevy  and  Lesueur.  In  1839  he  gained 
the  Prix  de  Rome,  and  spent  three  years  in  Rome,  studying 
ecclesiastical  music.  In  1846  he  contemplated  becoming 
a  priest,  and  wrote  a  nimiber  of  religious  vocal  works, 
pubhshed  under  the  name  Abb6  C.  Gounod.  In  185 1  the 
article  I  referred  to  appeared,  and  such  was  its  effect  on 
Gounod,  that  within  four  months  his  first  opera  "  Sapho  " 
was  given  (April,  185 1).  A  year  later  this  was  followed  by 
some  music  for  a  tragedy  (Poussard's  "  Ulysse  "  at  the 
Comedie  Frangaise),  and  in  1854  by  the  five-act  opera  "La 
nonne  sanglante."  These  were  only  very  moderately  suc- 
cessful; and  so  Gounod  turned  to  the  opera  comique,  and 
wrote  music  to  an  adaptation  of  Moliere's  "  Mededn 
malgre  lui."  This  became  very  popular,  and  paved  the 
way  for  his  "  Faust,"  which  was  produced  at  the  Opera 
Comique  in  1859.  In  the  opera  comique,  as  we  know,  the 
singing  was  always  interspersed  with  spoken  dialogue. 


OPERA  221 

Thus,  this  opera,  as  we  know  it,  dates  from  its  preparation 
for  the  Grand  Opera  ten  years  later,  1869.  Ten  months 
after  "  Faust  "  was  given  he  used  a  fable  of  Lafontaine 
for  a  short  light  opera,  "  Philemon  and  Bauds." 

In  the  meantime,  "Faust"  began  to  bring  him  encour- 
agement, and  his  next  opera  was  on  the  subject  of  the 
"  Queen  of  Sheba  "  (1862).  This  being  unsuccessful,  he 
wrote  two  more  light  operas,  "  Mireille "  and  "  La 
colombe  "  (1866).  The  next  was  "  Romeo  et  Juliette  " 
(1867).  This  was  very  successful,  and  marks  the  culmi- 
nation of  Gounod's  success  as  an  opera  composer.  In 
1870  he  went  to  London,  where  he  made  his  home  for 
a  number  of  years.  His  later  operas,  "  Cinq-Mars " 
(1877),  "  Polyeucte  "  (1878),  and  "  Le  tribut  de  Zamora  " 
(1881),  met  with  small  success,  and  have  rarely  been 
given. 

In  his  later  years,  as  we  know,  he  showed  his  early 
predilection  for  rehgious  music;  and  his  oratorios  "  The 
Redemption,"  "  Mors  et  Vita,"  and  several  masses  have 
been  given  with  varying  success.  Perhaps  one  of  the 
greatest  points  ever  made  in  Gounod's  favour  by  a  critic 
was  that  by  Pougin,  who  asks  what  other  composer  could 
have  written  two  such  operas  as  "  Faust  "  and  "  Romeo 
et  Juliette "  and  still  have  them  essentially  different 
musically.  The  "  Garden  Scene  "  in  the  one  and  the 
"  Balcony  Scene  "  in  the  other  are  identical,  so  far  as  the 
feeling  of  the  play  is  concerned;  also  the  duel  of  Faust  and 
Valentine  and  Romeo  and  Tybalt. 

Ambroise  Thomas's  better  works,  "  Mignon "  and 
"  Hamlet,"  may  be  said  to  be  more  or  less  echoes  of 


222  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL   ESSAYS 

Gounod;  and  while  his  "  Francesca  da  Rimini,"  which  was 
brought  out  in  1882,  was  by  far  his  most  ambitious  work, 
it  never  became  known  outside  of  Paris.  Ambroise 
Thomas  was  bom  in  181 1,  and  died  within  a  year  of  Gou- 
nod. His  chief  merit  was  in  his  successful  direction  of  the 
Conser\'atoire,  to  which  he  succeeded  Auber  in  1871. 

Georges  Bizet  (his  name  was  Alexander  Cesar  Leopold) 
was  bom  in  1838,  in  Paris,  ffis  father  was  a  poor  singing 
teacher,  and  his  mother  a  sister-in-law  of  Delsarte;  she 
was  a  first-prize  piano  pupil  of  the  Conservatoire.  As  a 
boy,  Bizet  was  very  precocious,  and  entered  the  Conser- 
vatoire as  a  pupil  of  Marmontel  when  he  was  ten.  He 
took  successively  the  first  prizes  for  solfege,  piano,  organ, 
and  fugue,  and  finally  the  Prix  de  Rome  in  1857,  when  he 
was  nineteen  years  old.  The  latter  kept  him  in  Rome 
imtil  1 86 1,  when  he  returned  to  Paris  and  gave  piano  and 
harmony  lessons  and  arranged  dance  music  for  brass 
bands,  a  metier  not  imknown  to  either  Wagner  or  RaflF. 

Until  1872,  Bizet  wrote  but  small  and  unimportant 
works,  such  as  "  The  Pearl  Fisher,"  "  The  Fair  Maid 
of  Perth,"  and  several  vaudeville  operettas,  some  of 
which  he  wrote  to  order  and  anonymously.  He  married  a 
daughter  of  Halevy,  the  composer,  and  in  1871-72  served 
in  the  National  Guard.  His  first  important  work  was  the 
incidental  music  to  Alphonse  Daudet's  "  L'Arlesienne  " 
and  finally  his  "  Carmen  "  was  given  (but  without  suc- 
cess), at  the  Opera  Comique,  in  March,  1875.  He  died 
June  3,  1875. 

Camille  Saint-Saens  was  bom  in  Paris,  in  1835;  he  com- 
menced studying  piano  when  only  three  years  old.    I 


OPERA  223 

believe  it  is  mostly  through  his  piano  concertos  and  his 
symphonic  poems  that  his  name  will  hve;  for  his  operas 
have  never  attained  popularity,  with  perhaps  the  one 
exception  of  "  Samson  and  Delilah."  His  other  operas 
are:  "  The  Yellow  Princess,"  "  Proserpina,"  "  Etienne 
Marcel,"  "  Henry  VIII,"  "  Ascanio." 

Jules  Massenet  was  bom  in  1852,  and  at  the  age  of 
twelve  became  a  pupil  of  Bezit  at  the  Conservatoire,  was 
rejected  by  Bezit  for  want  of  talent,  and  afterward  stud- 
ied with  Reber  and  Thomas,  and  won  the  Prix  de  Rome  in 
1863.  Upon  his  return,  in  1866,  he  wrote  a  number  of 
small  orchestral  works,  including  two  suites  and  several 
sacred  dramas,  "  Marie  Magdalen  "  and  "  Eve  and  the 
Virgin,"  in  which  the  general  Meyerbeerian  style  mihtated 
against  any  suggestion  of  reUgious  feeUng.  His  first 
grand  opera,  "  Le  roi  de  Lahore,"  was  given  in  1881. 
The  second  was  "  Herodiade,"  which  was  followed  by 
"  Manon,"  "  The  Cid,"  "  Esclarmonde,"  "Le  mage." 


xvm 

OPERA   (Continued) 

One  of  the  most  disputed  questions  in  modem  music  is 
that  of  opera.  Although  we  have  many  controversies  as  to 
what  purely  instrumental  or  vocal  music  may  do,  the 
operatic  art,  if  we  may  call  it  so,  always  remains  the 
same.  In  creating  the  music  drama,  Wagner  put  forth 
a  composite  art,  something  which  many  declare  impossible, 
and  as  many  others  advocate  as  being  the  most  complete 
art  form  yet  conceived.  We  are  still  in  the  midst  of  the 
discussion,  and  a  final  verdict  is  therefore  as  yet  impossible. 
On  one  hand  we  have  Wagner,  and  against  him  we  have 
the  absolutists  such  as  Brahms,  the  orthodox  thinkers 
represented  by  Anton  Rubinstein  and  many  others,  the 
new  Russian  school  represented  by  Cui,  Rimsky-Korsa- 
kov,  Tchaikovsky,  and  the  successors  of  the  French  school 
of  Meyerbeer,  namely,  Saint-Saens,  Massenet,  etc. 

In  order  to  get  a  clear  idea  of  the  present  state  of  the 
matter  we  must  review  the  question  from  the  beginning 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  For  many  reasons  this  is  not 
an  easy  task,  first  of  all  because  very  httle  of  the  music 
of  the  operas  of  this  period  actually  exists.  We  know 
the  names  of  Hasse,  Pergolesi,  Matheson,  Graun,  Alessan- 
dro  Scarlatti  (who  was  a  much  greater  man  than  his  son 
the   harpsichord   player  and   composer,    Domenico),   to 

name  only  a  few.    To  be  sure,  a  number  of  the  French 

224 


OPERA  225 

operas  of  the  period  are  preserved,  owing  to  the  custom 
in  France  of  engraving  music.  In  Germany  and  Italy, 
however,  such  operas  were  never  printed,  and  one  may 
safely  say  that  it  was  almost  the  rule  for  only  one  manu- 
script copy  to  be  available.  Natiurally  this  copy  belonged 
to  the  composer,  who  generally  led  the  opera  himself, 
improvising  much  of  it  on  the  harpsichord,  as  we  shall 
see  later.  As  an  instance  of  the  danger  which  operas, 
imder  such  conditions,  ran  of  being  destroyed  and  thus 
lost  to  the  world,  we  may  cite  the  total  destruction  of 
over  sixty  of  Hasse  s  operas  in  his  extreme  old  age. 

The  second  point  which  makes  it  difficult  for  us  to  get 
an  absolutely  clear  insight  into  the  conditions  of  opera  at 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  hes  in  the  fact 
that  contemporary  historians  never  brought  their  his- 
tories up  to  their  own  times.  Thus  Marpurg,  in  his  his- 
tory, divides  music  into  four  periods;  first,  that  of  Adam 
and  Eve  to  the  flood;  second,  from  the  flood  to  the 
Argonauts;  third,  to  the  beginning  of  the  Olympiads; 
fourth,  from  thence  to  Pythagoras.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  the  celebrated  histories  of  Gerbert  and  Padre 
Martini. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  are  certain  that  much  of  the 
modern  speculation  was  anticipated  by  these  men.  For 
instance,  Matheson  calls  pantomime  "  dumb  music,"  freed 
from  melodic  and  harmonic  forms.  The  idea  was  ad- 
vanced that  music  owes  its  rhythmic  regiilarity  and  form 
to  dancing,  and  architecture  was  called  frozen  music,  a 
metaphor  which,  in  later  days,  was  considered  such  an 
original  conception  of  Goethe  and  Schlegel.    This  same 


226  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

inability  of  historians  to  bring  their  accounts  up  to  the 
contemporary  times  may  be  noticed  in  the  later  works 
of  Forkel  (d.  1818)  and  Ambros  (d.  1876). 

Yet  a  third  reason  remains  which  tends  to  confuse  the 
student  as  to  what  really  constituted  opera.  This  is 
owing  to  the  fact  that  there  existed  the  very  important 
element  of  improvisation,  of  which  I  shall  speak  later. 

In  order  to  see  what  Gluck,  Weber,  and  Wagner  had  to 
break  away  from,  let  us  look  at  the  condition  of  opera  at 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century.  We  remember 
that  opera,  having  become  emancipated  from  the  Church 
long  before  any  other  music,  developed  apace,  while  in- 
stnunental  (secular)  music  was  still  in  its  infancy.  In 
Germany,  even  the  drama  was  neglected  for  its  kindred 
form  of  opera;  therefore,  in  studying  its  development,  we 
may  well  understand  why  the  dramatic  stage  considered 
the  opera  its  deadly  enemy. 

The  Ufe  of  the  German  dramatist  and  actor  of  the  first 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  one  of  the  direst  hard- 
ship and  poverty.  Eckhof,  one  of  the  greatest  actors  of 
his  time,  made  his  entry  into  Brunswick  in  a  kind  of 
miserable  hay  cart,  in  which,  accompanied  by  his  sick 
wife  and  several  dogs,  he  had  travelled  over  the  rough 
roads.  To  keep  warm  they  had  filled  part  of  the  wagon 
with  straw.  The  German  actor  and  dramatist  of  that 
time  often  died  in  the  hospital,  despised  by  the  richer 
classes;  even  the  village  priests  and  ministers  refused  to 
allow  them  to  eat  at  their  tables.  Their  scenery  rarely 
consisted  of  more  than  three  rough  pieces:  a  landscape,  a 
large  room,  and  a  peasant's  hut  interior.    Many  even  had 


OPERA  227 

only  two  large  cloths  which  were  hung  about  the  stage, 
one  green,  which  was  to  be  used  when  the  scene  was  in  the 
open  air,  and  the  other  yellow,  which  was  used  to  represent 
an  interior.  Shakespeare's  "  Poor  Players "  were  cer- 
tainly a  stern  reality  in  Germany.  In  order  to  attract  the 
pubUc  the  plays  had  to  consist  for  the  most  part  of  the 
grossest  subjects  imaginable,  it  being  barely  possible  to 
smuggle  some  small  portion  of  serious  drama  into  the 
entertainment. 

With  opera,  however,  it  was  vastly  different;  opera 
troupes  were  met  at  the  dty  gates  by  the  royal  or  ducal 
carriages,  and  the  singers  were  feted  everywhere.  The 
prices  paid  them  can  only  be  compared  with  the  salaries 
paid  nowadays.  They  were  often  ennobled,  and  the 
dififerent  courts  quarrelled  for  the  honour  of  their  presence. 
The  accounts  of  the  cost  of  the  scenery  used  are  incredi- 
ble, amounting  to  many  thousands  of  dollars  for  a  single 
performance. 

One  of  the  earliest  German  kapellmeisters  and  opera 
composers  was  Johann  Adolf  Hasse,  who  was  born  in 
Dresden  about  1 700.  To  show  the  foundation  upon  which 
Gluck  built,  we  will  look  at  opera  as  it  existed  in  Basse's 
time.  In  1727  Hasse  married  at  Venice,  Faustina  Bor- 
doni,  the  foremost  singer  of  the  time.  He  wrote  over 
one  hvmdred  operas  for  her,  and  had  a  salary  of  thirty-six 
thousand  marks,  or  nine  thousand  dollars,  yearly.  Now 
these  operas  were  very  different  from  those  we  know. 
The  arias  in  them  (and,  of  course,  the  whole  opera  was 
practically  but  a  succession  of  arias)  were  only  sketched 
in  an  extremely  vague  manner.     Much  was  left  to  the 


228  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

singer,  and  the  accompaniment  was  sparsely  indicated 
by  figures  written  above  a  bass.  The  recitative  which 
separated  one  aria  from  another  was  improvised  by  the 
singer,  and  was  accompanied  on  the  harpsichord  by  the 
kapellmeister,  who  was  naturally  obliged  to  improvise  his 
part  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  following  the  caprice  of 
the  singer.  There  was  no  creating  an  atmosphere  for  a 
tragic  or  dramatic  situation  by  means  of  the  accompani- 
ment; as  soon  as  the  situation  arrived,  an  aria  was  sung 
explaining  it.  Now,  as  the  singer  was  given  much  latitude 
in  regard  to  the  melody,  and  absolute  liberty  in  regard  to 
the  recitative,  it  is  easy  to  see  that,  with  the  astounding 
technical  perfection  possessed  by  the  singers  of  the  time, 
this  latitude  would  be  used  to  astonish  the  hearers  by 
wonderful  vocal  feats  intermingled  with  more  or  less  pas- 
sionate declamation. 

The  composer  was  merely  the  excuse  for  the  opera;  but 
he  needed  to  be  a  consummate  musician  to  conduct  and 
accompany  this  improvised  music,  of  which  his  written 
score  was  but  the  nucleus.  The  wretched  acting  of  opera 
singers  in  general  has  been  rather  hmnourously  traced  back 
to  this  epoch.  Nowadays,  in  an  opera,  when,  by  way  of 
example,  a  murder  is  to  be  committed,  the  orchestra  paints 
the  situation,  and  the  act  is  accomplished  without  delay. 
In  those  olden  days  a  singer  would  have  indignantly  re- 
fused to  submit  to  such  a  usurpation  of  his  rights;  he  would 
have  raised  his  dagger,  and  then,  before  striking,  would 
have  sung  an  aria  in  the  regular  three  parts,  after  which  he 
would  have  stabbed  his  man.  The  necessity  for  doing 
something  during  this  interim  is  said  to  be  responsible  for 


OPERA  229 

those  idiotic  gestures  which  used  to  be  such  a  seemingly 
necessary  part  of  the  equipment  of  the  opera  singer. 

In  the  ordinary  opera  of  the  time  there  was  the  custom 
of  usually  having  about  from  twenty  to  thirty  such  arias 
(Hasse's  one  hundred  operas  contain  about  three  thousand 
arias).  Now  these  arias,  although  they  were  intended  to 
paint  a  situation,  rapidly  became  simply  a  means  to  dis- 
play the  singer's  skill.  The  second  part  was  a  melody 
with  plenty  of  vocal  efifects,  and  the  third  part  a  bravura 
piece,  pure  and  simple.  So  there  only  remained  the 
recitative  in  which  true  dramatic  art  could  find  place.  As 
this,  however,  was  invariably  improvised  by  the  singer, 
one  can  see  that  the  composer  of  music  had  his  cross  as 
well  as  his  brother  the  dramatist.  The  music  having  no 
vital  connection  with  the  text,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  one 
opera  could  be  set  to  several  texts  or  vice-versa,  as  was 
often  done. 

Another  factor  also  contributed  to  retard  the  artistic 
development  of  opera.  All  these  arias  had  to  be  con- 
structed and  sung  according  to  certain  customs.  Thus, 
the  fiery,  minor  aria  was  always  simg  by  the  villain,  the 
so-called  colorature  arias  by  the  tall,  majestic  heroine,  etc. 

All  this  seems  childish  to  us,  but  it  was  certainly  a 
powerful  factor  in  making  fame  for  a  composer.  For,  as 
has  been  said,  while  a  modem  composer  writes  two  or 
three  different  operas,  Hasse  wrote  one  hundred  versions 
of  one.  This  also  had  its  effect  on  instrumental  music, 
and,  in  a  way,  is  also  the  direct  cause  of  that  monstrosity 
known  as  "  variations  "  (Handel  wrote  sixty-six  on  one 
theme.)     In  our  days  we  often  hear  the  bitter  complaint 


230  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

that  opera  singers  are  no  longer  what  they  used  to  be, 
and  that  the  great  art  of  singing  has  been  lost.  If  we  look 
back  to  the  period  under  consideration,  we  cannot  but 
admit  that  there  is  much  truth  in  the  contention.  In  the 
first  place,  an  opera  singer  of  those  days  was  necessarily  an 
actor  of  great  resource,  a  thorough  musician,  a  composer, 
and  a  marvellous  technician.  In  addition  to  this,  operas 
were  always  written  for  individuals.  Thus,  all  of  Hasse's 
were  designed  for  Faustina's  voice;  and  by  examining  the 
music,  we  can  tell  exactly  what  the  good  and  bad  points  of 
her  voice  were,  such  was  the  care  with  which  it  was  written. 

Before  we  leave  the  subject  of  Hasse  and  his  operas, 
I  wish  to  refer  briefly  to  a  statement  foimd  in  all 
histories  and  books  on  music.  We  find  it  stated  that  all 
this  music  was  simg  and  played  either  loud  or  soft;  with 
no  gradual  transitions  from  one  to  the  other.  The  exist- 
ence of  that  gradual  swelling  or  diminishing  of  the  tone 
in  miisic  which  we  call  crescendo  and  diminuendo,  is  in- 
variably denied,  and  its  first  use  is  attributed  to  Jommelli, 
director  of  the  opera  at  Mannheim,  in  1760.  Thus  we 
are  asked  to  believe  that  Faustina  sang  either  piano  or 
forte,  and  still  was  an  intensely  dramatic  singer. 

This  seems  to  me  to  require  no  comment;  especially  as, 
already  in  1676,  Matthew  Locke,  an  English  writer,  uses 
the  -===i  sign  for  the  gradual  transition  from  soft  to  loud. 
For  obvious  reasons  there  could  be  no  such  transition  in 
harpsichord  music,  and  this  is  why,  when  the  same  instru- 
ment was  provided  with  hammers  instead  of  quills,  the 
name  was  changed  to  pianoforte,  to  indicate  its  power  to 
modify  the  tone  from  soft  to  loud. 


OPERA  231 

Naturally  Handel,  who  was  a  man  of  despotic  tendencies, 
could  not  long  submit  to  the  caprices  of  opera  singers. 
After  innumerable  conflicts  with  them,  we  find  him  turning 
back  to  one  of  the  older  forms  of  opera,  the  oratorio. 

Bach  never  troubled  himself  about  an  art  from  which 
he  was  so  widely  separated  both  by  training  and  incHna- 
tion.  Thus  the  reformation  of  opera  (I  mean  the  old  opera 
of  which  I  have  been  speaking)  devolved  upon  Gluck. 
His  early  operas  were  entirely  on  the  Unes  of  those  of 
Hasse  and  Porpora.  He  wrote  operas  for  archduchesses 
("  II  Pamasso  "  was  played  by  four  archduchesses  and 
accompanied  on  harpsichord  by  the  Archduke  Leopold), 
and  was  music  master  to  Marie  Antoinette  at  Vienna.  It 
was  owing  to  these  powerful  influences  that  his  art  princi- 
ples had  an  opportunity  to  be  so  widely  exploited.  For 
these  principles  were  not  new;  they  formed  the  basis  of 
Peri's  first  attempt  at  opera  in  1600,  and  had  been  recalled 
in  vain  by  Marcello  in  1720.  They  were  so  simple  that  it 
seems  almost  childish  to  quote  them.  They  demanded 
merely  that  the  music  should  always  assist,  but  never 
interfere  with  either  the  declamation  or  dramatic  action 
of  the  story.  Thus  by  Gluck's  powerful  influence  with 
what  may  be  termed  the  fashion  of  his  day,  he  did  much  to 
relegate  to  a  place  of  minor  importance  the  singer,  who 
until  then  had  held  imdisputed  sway.  This  being  the  case, 
the  great  art  of  singing,  which  had  allowed  the  artist  the 
full  control  and  responsibiUty  of  opera,  thus  centering  all 
upon  the  one  individuaUty,  degenerated  into  the  more 
subordinate  role  of  following  the  composer's  directions. 

It  now  became  the  duty  of  the  composer  to  foresee  every 


232  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

contingency  of  his  work,  and  it  lay  with  him  to  give 
directions  for  every  detail  of  it.  As  a  result,  the  singers, 
having  no  longer  absolute  control  but  still  anxious  to 
display  their  technical  acquirements,  gradually  changed 
into  that  now  almost  obsolete  abomination,  the  "  Italian 
opera  singer,"  an  artist,  who,  shirking  all  responsibihty 
for  the  music  and  dramatic  action,  neglected  the  composer 
so  far  as  possible,  and  introduced  vocal  pyrotechnics 
wherever  he  or  she  dared  —  and  their  daring  was  great. 

^  the  meantime,  as  Gluck  was  bringing  in  his  reforms, 
songs  were  gradually  introduced  into  the  Schauspiel  or 
drama,  the  ill-fated  brother  of  opera  in  Germany;  and 
just  as  the  grand  opera  reached  its  highest  point  with 
Gluck,  so  this  species  of  melodrama  grew  apace,  imtil  we 
see  its  culmination  in  Weber's  "  Freischiitz." 

The  good  results  of  Gluck's  innovations  and  also,  to  a 
certain  degree,  its  discrepancies,  may  be  plainly  seen  in 
Mozart's  operas;  for  only  too  often  in  his  operas  Mozart 
was  obliged  to  introduce  fioriture  of  the  poorest  possible 
description  in  situations  where  they  were  utterly  out  of 
place.  This,  however,  may  not  be  entirely  laid  at  the 
door  of  the  exacting  singer,  for  we  find  these  same  fioriture 
throughout  his  harpsichord  music. 

We  may  almost  say  that  the  union  of  drama  and  music 
was  first  definitely  given  status  by  Mozart;  for  a  number 
of  his  operas,  such  as  the  "  Schauspieldirektor,"  etc., 
were  merely  a  form  of  the  German  Singspiel,  which,  as  I 
have  said,  culminated  in  "  Freischiitz." 

Thus,  at  the  beginning  of  our  century  we  find  two  art 
forms:  First,  grand  opera  of  a  strange  nationality,  and 


OPERA  233 

second,  the  small  but  rapidly  developing  form  of  comedy 
or  drama  with  music. 

In  order  to  show  how  Wagner  evolved  his  art  theories 
from  this  material,  we  must  consider  to  some  degree  the 
general  condirions  of  this  period. 

As  late  as  1853,  Riehl  wrote  that  Mendelssohn  was  the 
only  composer  who  had  the  German  pubhc,  whereas  others 
had  only  a  small  section  of  it.  For  example,  Schiunann, 
whose  music  he  did  not  like,  was  accepted  as  a  new  Messiah 
in  the  Elbe  River  district;  "  but  who,"  he  asks,  "  knows 
anything  about  him  in  the  south  or  west  of  Germany?  " 
And  as  for  Richard  Wagner,  who,  he  says,  is  a  man  of 
extravagant  ideas  and  a  kind  of  phenomenon  of  no  con- 
sequence artistically,  he  asks,  "  who  really  knows  any- 
thing about  him  outside  of  the  little  party  of  fanatics  who 
profess  to  Hke  his  music  (so-called)  ?  "  Its  only  chance  of 
becoming  known,  he  says,  is  in  the  public's  curiosity  to 
hear  works  which  are  rarely  given.  This  curiosity,  he 
continues,  wWl  be  a  much  more  potent  factor  in  his  chance 
of  becoming  known  than  all  his  newspaper  articles  and 
the  propaganda  of  his  friend,  Franz  Liszt. 

For  the  German  opera  there  were  half  a  dozen  Boersen- 
platze  —  BerHn  for  the  northwest,  Hamburg  for  the 
northeast,  Frankfort  for  the  southwest,  Munich  for  the 
southeast.  As  Riehl  says,  a  success  in  Frankfort  meant 
a  success  in  all  the  Frankfort  clay  deposit  and  sandstone 
systems,  but  in  the  chalk  formation  of  Munich  it  stood 
no  chance.  Thus  Germany  had  no  musical  centre.  But 
after  Meyerbeer  found  such  a  centre  in  Paris,  all  other 
Germans,  including  Wagner,  looked  to  Paris  for  fame. 


234  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

At  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  Vienna  was  the 
art  centre;  nevertheless  Gluck  had  to  go  to  Paris  for 
recognition. 

Mendelssohn  only  succeeded  by  his  SdonfdhigkeU. 
Always  respectable  in  his  forms,  no  one  else  could  have 
made  music  popular  among  the  cultured  classes  as  could 
Mendelssohn.  This  also  had  its  danger;  for  if  Mendel- 
ssohn had  written  an  opera  (the  lack  of  which  was  so 
bewailed  by  the  Philistines),  it  would  have  taken  root  all 
over  Germany,  and  put  Wagner  back  many  years.  At 
the  death  of  Mendelssohn,  the  PhiUstines  heralded  the 
coming  of  a  new  German  national  school,  founded  on  his 
principles  (formaHsm),  one  that  would  clarify  the  artistic 
atmosphere  of  the  turgid  and  anarchistic  excesses  of 
Wagner  and  Berlioz  and  their  followers.  These  critics 
found  already  that  Beethoven's  melodies  were  too  long 
and  his  instrumentation  too  involved.  They  declared 
that  the  further  music  departed  from  its  natural  simplicity 
the  more  involved  its  utterance  became,  the  less  clear, 
and  consequently  the  poorer  it  was.  Music  was  com- 
pared to  architecture,  and  thus  the  more  Greek  it  was,  the 
better;  forgetting  that  architecture  was  tied  to  urilitarian- 
ism  and  poetry  to  word-symbols,  and  that  painting  is 
primarily  an  art  of  externals. 

Riehl  says  that  art  is  always  in  danger  of  ruin  when  its 
simple  foundation  forms  are  too  much  elaborated,  over- 
looking the  fact  that  music  is  not  an  art,  but  psychological 
utterance. 

It  needed  all  Wagner's  gigantic  personality  to  rise  above 
this  wave  of  formalism  that  looked  to  the  past  for  its 


OPERA  235 

salvation,  a  past  which  was  one  of  childish  experimenting 
rather  than  of  £esthetic  accomplishment.  The  tendency 
was  to  return  to  the  dark  cave  where  tangible  walls  were 
to  be  touched  by  the  hands,  rather  than  to  emerge  into  a 
simlight  that  seemed  blinding. 


XIX 

ON    THE    LIVES    AND     ART    PRINCIPLES    OF 

SOME   SEVENTEENTH  AND   EIGHTEENTH 

CENTURY   COMPOSERS 

There  is  much  of  value  to  the  student  to  be  derived  from 
a  study  of  the  lives  and  art  principles  of  the  composers 
of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  To  go  back 
to  an  earlier  period  would  hardly  be  worth  while,  as  the 
music  composed  in  those  days  is  too  much  obscured  by 
the  uncertainty  of  tradition  and  the  inevitable  awkward- 
ness of  expression  that  goes  with  all  primitiveness  in  art. 

The  first  whom  I  would  mention  are  Don  Carlo  Gesu- 
aldo,  Prince  of  Venosa,  and  Ludovico  Viadana. 

The  former  was  a  nephew  of  the  Archbishop  of  Naples, 
was  born  in  1550,  and  died  in  1613.  His  name  is  important 
from  the  fact  that  he  went  boldly  beyond  Monteverde, 
his  contemporary,  in  the  use  of  the  new  dissonant  chords 
(sevenths  and  ninths)  which  were  just  beginning  to  be 
employed,  and  adopted  a  chromatic  style  of  writing  which 
strangely  foreshadowed  the  chromatic  polyphonic  style 
of  the  present  century.  He  wrote  innumerable  madri- 
gals for  a  number  of  voices,  but  his  innovations  remained 
sterile  so  far  as  the  development  of  music  is  concerned, 
for  the  reason  that  while  his  music  often  acquired  a  wonder- 
ful poignancy  for  his  time  by  the  use  of  chromatics,  just 

236 


I7TH  AND    i8th  century  COMPOSERS         237 

as  often   it  led  him  into  the  merest  bramble  bush  of 
sound,  real  music  being  entirely  absent. 

Viadana  (i  566-1645)  has  been  placed  by  many  his- 
torians of  music  in  the  same  category  as  Guido  d'Arezzo 
(who  is  credited  with  having  invented  solmization,  musi- 
cal notation,  etc.),  Palestrina,  Monteverde  and  Peri,  who 
are  famed,  the  one  for  having  discovered  the  dominant 
ninth  chord,  and  the  other  for  the  invention  of  opera. 
Viadana  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  to  use  what  is  called 
a  basso  continuo,  and  even  the  figured  bass.  The  former 
was  the  iminterrupted  repetition  of  a  short  melody  or 
phrase  in  the  bass  through  the  entire  course  of  a  piece  of 
music.  This  was  done  very  often  to  give  a  sense  of  unity 
that  nowadays  would  be  obtained  by  a  repetition  of  the 
first  thought  at  certain  intervals  through  the  piece.  The 
figured  (or  better,  ciphered)  bass  was  an  entirely  different 
thing.  This  device,  which  is  still  employed,  consisted  of 
the  use  of  figures  to  indicate  the  different  chords  in  music. 
These  figures  or  ciphers  were  written  over  or  under  the 
bass  note  on  which  the  chord  represented  by  the  figures 
was  to  be  played  or  sung.  A  5  over  or  under  a  bass  note 
meant  that  with  that  note  a  perfect  major  triad  was  to 
be  sounded,  considering  the  note  written  as  the  root  of 
the  chord;  a  3  was  taken  to  stand  for  a  perfect  minor 
triad;  a  6  for  the  chord  of  the  sixth  (first  inversion  of  a 
triad),  and  |  for  the  second  inversion;  a  line  through  a 
5  or  7  meant  that  the  triad  was  a  diminished  fifth  or  a 
diminished  seventh  chord;  a  cross  indicated  a  leading 
tone;  a  4  stood  for  the  third  inversion  of  the  dominant 
seventh  chord.    This  system  of  shorthand,  as  it  may  be 


238  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

called,  was  and  is  still  of  tremendous  value  to  composers. 
In  the  olden  days,  particularly,  when  many  of  the  com- 
posers engraved  their  own  music  for  publication,  it  saved 
a  great  deal  of  labour.  It  is  probably  not  generally  known 
that  the  engraving  of  music  by  the  composer  was  so 
common;  but  such  was  the  case  with  Bach,  Rameau,  and 
Couperin. 

And  this  reminds  me  that  the  embellishments,  as  they 
were  called,  which  are  so  common  in  all  harpsichord  and 
clavichord  music,  were  also  noted  in  a  kind  of  shorthand, 
and  for  precisely  the  same  reason.  The  embellishments 
themselves  originated  from  the  necessity  for  sustaining  in 
some  way  the  tone  of  the  instrimient,  which  gave  out  little, 
dry,  clicklike  sounds;  if  the  melody  were  played  in  simple 
notes,  these  sounds  would  mingle  with  the  accompaniment 
and  be  lost  in  it.  Therefore,  the  embellishments  served  to 
sustain  the  tones  of  the  melody,  and  thus  cause  them  to 
stand  out  from  the  accompaniment.  Their  notation  by 
means  of  symbols  copied  from  the  primitive  neumes  vastly 
facihtated  the  work  of  engraving.  Much  confusion  arose 
in  the  notation  of  embellishments,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
each  composer  had  his  own  system  of  symbols. 

Alessandro  Scarlatti  and  his  son  Domenico,  both  cele- 
brated in  their  day,  are  the  next  to  demand  attention. 
The  former  was  born  about  1650  and  died  about  1725.  He 
wrote  many  operas  of  which  we  know  practically  nothing. 
His  son  was  born  about  1685  and  died  in  1757.  He  was 
the  most  celebrated  harpsichord  player  of  his  time;  and 
although  his  style,  which  was  essentially  one  of  virtuosity, 
was  not  productive  of  direct  results,  it  did  nevertheless 


lyiH  AND  i8th  century  composers      239 

foreshadow  the  wonderful  technical  achievements  of  Liszt 
in  our  own  times.  It  is  indeed  a  great  pity  that  Domen- 
ico  Scarlatti's  work  did  not  bear  more  direct  fruit  in  his 
day,  for  it  would  have  turned  Mozart,  as  well  as  many 
others,  from  the  loose,  clumsy  mannerisms  of  the  Jater 
\drtuoso  style,  which  ran  to  the  Alberti  bass  and  other 
degrading  platitudes,  paralleled  in  our  comparatively 
modem  days  by  the  Thalberg  arpeggios,  repeating  notes, 
Dohler  trill,  etc. 

Two  masters  in  music,  Handel  and  J.  S.  Bach,  were 
bom  the  same  year,  1685 ;  their  great  French  contemporary, 
Rameau,  was  born  two  years  earlier  and  died  in  1764; 
while  Handel  died  in  1759,  and  Bach  in  1750.  Bach  was 
destined  to  give  to  the  world  its  first  glimpse  of  the  tre- 
mendous power  of  music,  •  while  Rameau  organized  the 
elements  of  music  into  a  scientific  harmonic  structure, 
laying  the  foundation  for  our  modern  harmony.  Handel's 
great  achievement  (besides  being  a  fine  composer)  was  to 
crush  all  life  out  of  the  then  promising  school  of  English 
music,  the  foundation  for  which  had  been  so  well  laid  by 
Purcell,  Byrd,  Morley,  etc. 

Jean  Phihppe  Rameau  was  bom  in  Dijon,  and  after 
travels  in  Italy  and  a  short  period  of  service  as  organist  at 
Clermont,  in  Auvergne,  went  to  Paris.  There  he  wrote  a 
nimiber  of  small  vaudevilles  or  musical  comedies,  which 
were  successful;  and  his  music  for  the  harpsichord,  con- 
sisting almost  exclusively  of  small  pieces  with  descriptive 
titles,  soon  began  to  be  widely  played  in  France.  Much 
later  in  life  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  hearing  for  his 
operas,  the  first  of  which,  "  Hippolyte  et  Aricie,"  was  given 


240  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

in  1732,  when  he  was  fifty  years  old.  For  thirty- two  years 
his  operas  continued  to  hold  the  French  stage  against 
those  of  all  foreigners. 

His  style  marked  a  great  advance  over  that  of  Lnlly,  the 
Italian,  of  the  century  before.  Rameau  aimed  at  clear- 
ness of  diction  and  was  one  of  the  first  to  attempt  to  give 
individuality  to  the  different  orchestral  instruments.  By 
some  strange  coincidence,  his  first  opera  had  much  the 
same  dramatic  situation  that  all  the  early  operas  seemed 
to  have,  namely,  a  scene  in  the  infernal  regions.  Ra- 
meau's  operas  never  became  the  foundation  for  a  distinctly 
French  opera,  for  at  the  time  of  his  death  (1764),  Italian 
opera  troupes  had  already  introduced  a  kind  of  comedy 
,  with  music,  which  rapidly  developed  into  opera  comique; 
it  was  reserved  for  Gluck,  the  German,  to  revive  grand 
opera  in  France. 

As  a  theoretician,  Rameau  exerted  tremendous  influence 
upon  music.  He  discovered  that  the  chord  which  we  call 
the  perfect  major  triad  was  not  merely  the  result  of  an 
artificial  training  of  the  ear  to  like  certain  combinations 
of  sounds,  but  that  this  chord  was  inherent  in  every 
musical  sound,  constituting,  as  it  does,  the  first  four 
harmonics  or  overtones.  All  chords,  therefore,  that  were 
not  composed  of  thirds  placed  one  above  the  other,  were 
inversions  of  fundamental  chords.  This  theory  holds  good 
in  the  general  harmonic  system  of  to-day.  But  although 
the  major  triad  and  even  the  dominant  seventh  chord 
could  be  traced  back  to  the  harmonics,  the  minor  triad 
proved  a  different  matter;  after  many  experiments  Ra- 
meau gave  it  up,  leaving  it  imaccounted  for. 


I7TH  AND    I  8th  century   COMPOSERS         241 

Rameau  was  also  largely  instrumental  in  gaining  recog- 
nition for  the  desirability  of  dividing  the  octave  into 
twelve  equal  parts,  making  all  the  so-called  half-tones 
recur  at  mathematically  equal  distances  from  each  other 
in  the  chromatic  scale.  In  1737  his  work  on  the  genera- 
tion of  chords  through  overtones  caused  the  equal  tem- 
perament system  of  tuning  to  be  generally  accepted,  and 
the  old  modes,  with  the  exception  of  the  Ionian  and 
iEolian,  to  be  dropped  out  of  use.  The  former  became 
known  as  major  and  the  latter  as  minor,  from  the  third, 
which  was  large  in  the  Ionian  and  small  in  the  ^olian. 

Handel,  as  before  stated,  was  born  in  1685  (February  23), 
in  Halle,  in  the  same  year  as  J.  S.  Bach,  who  was  a  month 
younger  (bom  March  21).  His  father  was  a  barber,  who, 
as  was  common  in  those  days,  combined  the  trade  of 
surgery,  cupping,  etc.,  with  that  of  hairdressing.  He 
naturally  opposed  his  son's  bent  toward  music,  but  with 
no  effect.  At  fifteen  years  of  age,  Handel  was  beginning 
to  be  well  known  as  a  clavichord  and  organ  player,  in 
the  latter  capacity  becoming  specially  celebrated  for  his 
wonderful  improvisations.  In  spite  of  an  attempt  to 
make  a  lawyer  of  him,  he  persisted  in  taking  music  as 
his  vocation,  after  the  death  of  his  father. 

In  Hamburg,  whither  he  went  in  1703,  he  obtained  a 

place  among  the  second  violins  in  the  opera  orchestra.* 

Realizing  that  in  Germany  opera  was  but  a  reflection  of 

Italian  art,  he  left  Hamburg  in  1707  and  went  to  Italy, 

*  At  that  time  the  harpsichord  player  was  a  very  important 
member  of  an  orchestra,  as  he  accompanied  the  recitative  from 
figured  bass  and  was  practically  the  conductor.  On  one  occasion 
when  the  harpsichordist  was  absent  Handel  took  his  place  with  so 
much  success  that  it  paved  the  way  for  a  hearing  of  his  operas. 


242  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

where  he  soon  began  to  make  a  name  for  himself,  both  as 
performer  and  composer.  One  of  his  operas,  "  Agrippa," 
was   performed  at  Venice   during  the  Carnival   season 

of   1 7 ID. 

The  Hanoverian  kapellmeister,  Staffani,  was  present  and 
invited  him  to  Hanover,  whither  he  went,  becoming 
Staffani 's  successor  in  the  service  of  the  Elector  of  Hanover. 
Several  trips  to  England,  where  he  was  warmly  welcomed, 
resulted  in  his  accepting  from  Queen  Anne,  in  17 13,  a 
salary  of  two  hundred  pounds  yearly,  thus  entering  her 
service,  notwithstanding  his  contract  with  the  Elector. 
In  1 7 14  the  Queen  died,  and  the  Elector  of  Hanover  was 
called  to  the  English  throne  under  the  title  of  George  I. 
Handel,  in  order  to  escape  the  impending  disgrace  occa- 
sioned by  having  broken  faith  with  his  former  employer, 
wrote  some  music  intended  to  be  particularly  persuasive, 
and  had  it  played  on  a  barge  that  followed  a  royal  pro- 
cession up  the  Thames.  This  "  Water  Music,"  as  it  was 
called,  procured  for  him  the  King's  pardon. 

From  this  time  he  lived  in  England,  practically  monop- 
olizing all  that  was  done  in  music.  In  1720  a  company 
for  the  giving  of  Italian  opera  was  formed,  and  Handel 
placed  at  its  head.  In  1727,  on  the  occasion  of  the  acces- 
sion of  George  II,  Handel  wrote  four  anthems,  one  of 
which  "  Zadok  the  Priest,"  ends  with  the  words  "  God 
save  the  King,"  from  which  it  has  been  erroneously  stated 
that  he  wrote  the  English  national  hymn. 

In  1737  Handel  gave  up  the  writing  of  operas,  after 
sinking  most  of  his  own  savings  in  the  undertaking,  and 
began  to  write  oratorios,  the  germs  of  which  are  found 


ITTH  AND   I 8th  century  COMPOSERS         243 

in  the  old  Mysteries  and  Passion  plays  performed  on  a 
platform  erected  in  the  chapel  or  oratory  of  a  church. 
Much  has  been  written  about  Handel's  habit  of  taking 
themes  from  other  composers,  and  he  was  even  dubbed 
the  "  grand  old  robber."  It  must  not  be  overlooked,  how- 
ever, that  although  he  made  use  of  ideas  from  other 
composers,  he  turned  them  to  the  best  account.  By  1742 
Handel  was  again  in  prosperous  circumstances,  his  "  Mes- 
siah "  having  been  a  tremendous  success.  From  that 
time  until  his  death  he  held  undisputed  sway,  although  his 
last  years  were  clouded  by  a  trouble  with  his  eyes,  which 
were  operated  upon  unsuccessfully  by  an  English  ocuUst, 
named  Taylor,  who  had  also  operated  on  Bach's  eyes  with 
the  same  disastrous  result.  Handel  became  completely 
blind  in  1752.  Up  to  the  last  year  of  his  life  he  contin- 
ued to  give  oratorio  concerts  and  played  organ  concertos, 
of  which  only  the  tiUti  were  noted,  he  improvising  his 
part. 

Handel's  strength  lay  in  his  great  ability  to  produce 
overwhelming  effects  by  comparatively  simple  means. 
This  is  especially  the  case  in  his  great  choruses  which  are 
massive  in  effect  and  yet  simple  to  the  verge  of  barrenness. 
This,  of  course,  has  no  reference  to  the  absurd  fioriture 
and  long  passage  work  given  to  the  voices,  —  an  Italian 
fashion  of  the  times,  —  but  to  the  contrapuntal  texture  of 
the  work.  Of  his  oratorios,  "  The  Messiah  "  is  the  best 
known.  Two  of  his  "  Concerti  Grossi,"  the  third  and 
sixth,  are  sometimes  played  by  string  orchestras.  Of  his 
harpsichord  music  we  have  the  eight  "  Suites  "  of  1720 
(among  which   the  one  in  E  is  known  as  having  the 


244  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

variations  called  "  The  Harmonious  Blacksmith  "),  and  a 
nimiber  of  "  Harpsichord  Lessons,"  among  which  are  six 
fugues.     All  these  may  be  said  to  have  little  value. 

J.  S.  Bach  diflfered  in  almost  every  respect  from  Handel, 
except  that  he  was  born  in  the  same  year  and  was  killed  by 
the  same  doctor.  While  Handel  left  no  pupils,  with  per- 
haps the  exception  of  his  assistant  organist,  Bach  aided 
and  taught  his  own  celebrated  sons,  Elrebs,  Agricola, 
Kittel,  Kimberger,  Marpurg,  and  many  other  distinguished 
musicians.  Bach  twice  made  an  effort  to  see  Handel  at 
Halle,  but  without  success.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are 
reasons  for  believing  that  Handel  never  took  the  trouble 
to  examine  any  of  Bach's  clavichord  music.  He  lived  like 
a  conqueror  in  a  foreign  land,  writing  operas,  oratorios,  and 
concertos  to  order,  and  stealing  ideas  right  and  left  without 
compimction;  whereas  Bach  wrote  from  conviction,  and 
no  charge  of  plagiarism  was  ever  laid  at  his  door.  Handel 
left  a  great  fortune  of  twenty  thousand  pounds.  Bach's 
small  salary  at  the  St.  Thomas  Church  in  Leipzig  made  it 
necessary  for  him  to  do  much  of  his  own  engraving;  and 
at  his  death,  though  he  had  helped  many  young  struggling 
artists,  his  widow  was  left  so  poor  that  she  had  to  be 
supported  by  public  benevolence.  Bach's  works  were 
neglected  by  his  contemporaries,  and  it  was  only  in  the 
nineteenth  century  that  he  began  to  be  appreciated  in  a 
way  commensurate  with  his  worth. 

Bach  was  born  in  Eisenach,  in  Thuringia,  and  it  is  of 
interest  to  know  that  as  far  back  as  his  great  grandfather, 
Veit  Bach  (born  about  1550),  music  had  been  the  pro- 
fession of  the  family.     Bach's  parents  died  when  he  was 


lyxH  AND  i8th  century  composers       245 

a  boy  of  ten,  and  his  education  was  continued  by  his 
elder  brother,  Johann  Christoph,  at  a  town  near  Gotha, 
where  he  held  a  position  as  organist.  The  boy  soon  out- 
stripped his  brother  in  learning,  and  continued  his  studies 
wholly  by  himself. 

After  filling  a  position  as  organist  at  Weimar,  in  1703 
he  accepted  one  at  a  small  town,  Amstadt,  at  a  salary  of 
about  fifty-seven  dollars  yearly.  He  had  already  begvm  to 
compose,  and  possibly  in  imitation  of  Kuhnau,  whose  so- 
called  "  Bible  "  sonatas  were  at  the  time  being  talked 
about,  he  wrote  an  elaborate  clavichord  piece  to  illustrate 
the  departure  of  his  brother,  Johann  Jakob,  who  had 
entered  the  service  of  Charles  XII  of  Sweden  as  oboist. 
This  composition  is  divided  into  five  parts,  each  bearing 
an  appropriate  superscription  and  ending  with  an  elabo- 
rate fugue  to  illustrate  the  postillion's  horn.  I  believe 
this  is  the  only  instance  of  his  having  written  actual 
programme  music.  After  leaving  Arnstadt  he  filled  posi- 
tions as  organist  at  Miihlhausen,  Weimar,  Coethen,  etc. 
It  was  before  1720  that  he  paid  his  two  visits  to  Halle  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  Handel.  At  this  time  he  had  already 
written  the  first  part  of  the  "  Wohltemperierte  Clavier," 
the  violin  sonatas,  and  many  other  great  works.  Ten 
years  later,  when  Handel  again  came  to  Germany,  Bach 
was  too  ill  to  go  to  see  him  personally,  but  sent  his  eldest 
son  to  invite  Handel  to  come  and  see  him,  although  with- 
out success. 

In  1723  he  obtained  the  position  of  Cantor  at  the  St. 
Thomas  School,  in  Leipzig,  left  vacant  by  the  death  of 
Kuhnau;  here  he  remained  imtil  his  death.     In  1749  the 


246  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

English  oculist,  Taylor,  happened  to  be  in  Leipzig.  On 
the  advice  of  friends,  Bach  submitted  to  an  operation  on 
his  eyes,  which  had  always  troubled  him.  The  failure  of 
this  operation  rendered  him  totally  bUnd  and  the  accom- 
panying medical  treatment  completely  broke  him  down. 
On  the  eighteenth  of  July,  1750,  he  suddenly  regained  his 
sight,  but  it  was  accompanied  by  a  stroke  of  paralysis 
from  which  he  died  ten  days  later. 

So  far  as  his  church  music  is  concerned.  Bach  may 
be  considered  as  the  Protestant  compeer  of  the  Roman 
Catholic,  Palestrina,  with  the  difference  that  his  music 
was  based  on  the  tonahties  of  major  and  minor  and  that 
his  harmonic  structure  was  founded  on  a  scientific  basis. 
What  is  mere  wandering  in  Palestrina,  with  Bach  is 
moving  steadily  forward  with  a  well-defined  object  in 
view.  With  Bach,  music  is  cast  in  the  definite  mould 
of  tonaUty,  while  with  Palestrina  the  vagueness  of  the 
modes  lends  to  his  music  something  of  mystery  and  a 
certain  supernatxiral  freedom  from  human  will,  so  promi- 
nent a  characteristic  of  Bach's  compositions.  In  con- 
sidering Bach's  music  we  must  forget  the  technique, 
which  was  merely  the  outside  dress  of  his  compositions. 
His  style  was  the  one  of  the  period,  just  as  he  wore  a  wig, 
and  buckles  on  his  shoes.  His  music  must  not  be  con- 
foimded  with  the  contrapuntal  style  of  his  utterance,  and 
although  he  has  never  been  surpassed  as  a  scientific  writer 
of  counterpoint,  it  would  be  unjust  to  look  there  for  his 
chief  glory.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  his  scientific 
speech  threatened  to  clash  with  the  musical  idea  in  his 
composition,  he  never  hesitated  to  sacrifice  the  former  to 


I7TH  AND    I  8th  century  composers         247 

the  latter.  Thus  Bach  may  be  considered  the  greatest 
musical  scientist  of  his  time  as  well  as  the  greatest  breaker 
of  mere  rules. 

Of  his  sons,  Carl  Philipp  Emanuel  is  the  most  cele- 
brated, and  did  much  to  prepare  the  way  for  Haydn  in 
the  development  of  the  sonata.  J.  S.  Bach  wrote  many 
sonatas,  but  none  for  the  clavichord;  his  sonatas  were  for 
the  violin  and  the  'cello  alone,  a  great  innovation.  The 
violin  sonatas  bring  into  play  all  the  resources  of  the 
instrimient;  indeed  it  is  barely  possible  to  do  them  justice 
from  the  technical  standpoint.  His  "  Wohltemperierte 
Cla\'ier  "  naturally  was  a  tremendous  help  to  clavichord 
technique,  and  even  now  the  "  Chromatic  Fantaisie  "  and 
other  works  require  fine  pianists  to  perform  them  properly. 

In  considering  the  development  of  music,  it  must  always 
be  remembered  that  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  their  contem- 
poraries knew  Httle  or  nothing  of  Bach's  works,  thus 
accoimting  for  what  otherwise  would  seem  a  retrograde 
movement  in  art.  C.  P.  E.  Bach  (bom  1714)  was  much 
better  known  than  his  father;  even  Mozart  said  of  him, 
"  He  is  the  father,  and  we  are  mere  children."  He  was 
renowned  as  a  harpsichord  player,  and  wrote  many  sonatas 
which  form  the  connecting  link  between  the  suite  and 
the  sonata.  He  threw  aside  the  polyphonic  style  of  his 
father  and  strove  to  give  his  music  new  colour  and  warmth 
by  means  of  harmony  and  modulation.  He  died  in  1788 
in  Hamburg,  where  he  was  conductor  of  the  opera.  It 
should  be  mentioned  that  he  wrote  a  method  of  clavichord 
playing  on  which,  in  later  days,  Czemy  said  that  Bee- 
thoven based  his  piano  teaching. 


248  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Up  to  the  period  now  under  consideration,  music  for  the 
orchestra  occupied  a  very  small  part  in  the  composer's 
work.  To  be  sure,  J.  S.  Bach  wrote  some  suites,  and 
separate  movements  were  written  in  the  different  dance 
forms  for  violins,  "v\'ith  sometimes  the  addition  of  a  few 
reed  instruments,  and  possibly  flutes  and  small  horns  or 
tnmipets.  It  is  in  the  works  of  C.  P.  E.  Bach,  however, 
that  we  find  the  germ  of  symphonic  orchestral  writing  that 
was  to  be  developed  by  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven. 
The  so-called  "  symphonies "  by  Emanuel  Bach  are 
merely  rudimentary  sonatas  written  for  strings,  ■with 
flutes,  oboes,  bassoons,  trumpets,  etc.,  and  have  practically 
no  artistic  significance  except  as  showing  the  inevitable 
trend  of  musical  thought  toward  greater  power  of  ex- 
pression. In  Germany  (and  indeed  everywhere  else)  the 
Italian  element  had  full  sway  over  opera,  and  non-Italian 
musicians  were  forced  into  writing  for  the  concert  room 
instead  of  the  stage.  Even  Beethoven  had  many  dis- 
appointments in  connection  with  his  one  opera  "  Fidelio," 
and  so  strong  was  the  Italian  influence,  that  here  in  Amer- 
ica we  are  only  just  now  (1897)  recovering  from  the  effects 
of  it. 

Franz  Joseph  Haydn  was  born  near  Vienna,  in  1732,  of 
hvunble  parents,  his  mother  a  cook  in  a  count's  family, 
and  his  father  a  wheelwright  and  sexton  of  the  parish 
chiu-ch.  When  a  young  boy  Haydn  had  a  fine  voice,  on 
accovmt  of  which  he  was  admitted  as  a  member  of  the  choir 
at  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral  in  Vienna.  This  entitled  him 
to  admission  to  St.  Stephen's  School,  connected  with  the 
cathedral,  in  which  the  city  paid  for  the  board  and  lodging 


I7TH  AND    I  8th  century  composers         249 

as  well  as  the  instruction  of  the  singers.  When  the  boys' 
voices  changed  or  "  broke,"  however,  they  were  turned 
adrift.  On  leaving  the  cathedral,  Haydn  suffered  the 
direst  poverty,  engaging  himself  at  one  time  as  valet  to 
the  Italian  singing  teacher,  Porpora,  in  order  to  secure 
some  lessons. 

He  gradually  managed  to  make  himself  known,  and  was 
engaged  by  Coimt  Morzin,  a  rich  nobleman,  to  organize 
an  orchestra  of  about  eighteen,  which  the  count  retained 
in  his  service  with  Haydn  as  leader.  Here  he  wrote  his 
first  symphony  (for  strings,  two  oboes  and  two  horns,  in 
three  movements)  and  a  number  of  smaller  works.  When 
he  was  twenty-nine,  Count  Morzin  gave  up  his  establish- 
ment and  Haydn  entered  the  service  of  Prince  Paul 
Esterhazy,  in  Eisenstadt,  Hungary,  in  the  same  capacity. 
Here  he  had  an  orchestra  of  sixteen,  composed  of  good 
musicians,  whom  he  could  call  up  at  any  hour  of  the  night 
to  play  if  he  wished,  and  over  whom  he  had  complete 
control.  Although  the  contract  by  which  he  was  engaged 
names  the  most  degrading  conditions,  and  places  Haydn 
on  a  par  with  all  the  other  servants,  the  pay,  though  small 
(two  himdred  dollars  yearly),  was  certain  and  regular. 
From  this  time  Haydn  was  free  from  the  hardships  of 
poverty.  His  salary  was  soon  increased  to  five  himdred 
dollars,  and  he  made  as  much  more  from  his  compositions. 
He  wrote  over  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  symphonies, 
sixty-eight  trios,  seventy-seven  quartets,  fifty-seven  con- 
certos, fifty-seven  sonatas,  eight  oratorios  and  cantatas, 
and  nineteen  operas,  besides  innumerable  smaller  things, 
for  instance,  between  five  hundred  and  six  hundred  vocal 


250  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

pieces.  His  operas,  of  course,  are  mere  trifles  compared 
with  our  more  modern  ones. 

His  friendship  for  Mozart  is  well  known.  As  for  his 
relations  with  Beethoven,  it  is  probable  that  their  dis- 
agreement was  merely  the  effect  of  pride,  and  perhaps  a 
certain  amount  of  laziness  on  one  side  and  youthful 
bumptiousness  on  the  other.  Haydn  was  returning  to 
Vienna  via  Bonn,  from  England,  where  he  had  been  wel- 
comed by  the  wildest  enthusiasm,  when  Beethoven  called 
on  him  to  ask  for  his  opinion  as  to  his  talent  as  a 
composer.  It  resulted  in  Beethoven's  going  to  Vienna. 
After  taking  a  few  lessons  of  Haydn  he  went  to  another 
teacher  and  made  all  manner  of  contemptuous  remarks 
about  Haydn,  declaring  he  had  not  learned  anything  from 
him. 

After  two  highly  successful  visits  to  England,  in  1792 
and  1794,  Haydn  returned  to  Vienna  and  wrote  his  two 
celebrated  cantatas,  "  The  Creation  "  and  "  The  Seasons." 
His  last  appearance  in  public  was  when  he  attended  a 
performance  of  "  The  Creation  "  in  1808,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-six.  He  was  received  with  a  fanfare  of  trumpets 
and  cheers  from  the  audience.  After  the  first  part  he 
was  obliged  to  leave,  and  as  he  was  being  carried  out  by 
his  friends,  he  turned  at  the  door  and  lifted  his  hands 
towards  the  orchestra,  as  if  in  benediction;  Beethoven 
kissed  his  hand,  and  everyone  paid  him  homage.  He 
died  during  the  bombardment  of  Vienna  by  the  French, 
May  31,  1809. 

Haydn's  later  symphonies  have  been  very  cleverly  com- 
pared with  those  of  Beethoven  by  the  statement  that  the 


I7TH  AND    I  8th   century  COMPOSERS        251 

latter  wrote  tragedies  and  great  dramas,  whereas  Haydn 
wrote  comedies  and  charming  farces.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Haydn  is  the  bridge  between  the  idealized  dance  and 
independent  music.  Although  Beethoven  still  retained 
the  form  of  the  dance,  he  wrote  great  poems,  whereas  the 
music  of  Haydn  always  preserves  a  tinge  of  the  actual 
dance.  With  Haydn,  music  was  still  an  art  consisting 
of  the  weaving  together  of  pretty  sounds,  and  although 
design,  that  is  to  say,  the  development  of  the  emotional 
character  of  a  musical  thought,  was  by  no  means  imknown 
to  him,  that  development  was  never  permitted  to  tran- 
scend the  limits  of  a  certain  graceful  euphony  which  was  a 
marked  characteristic  of  his  style.  His  use  of  orchestral 
instruments  represents  a  marked  advance  on  that  of 
C.  P.  E.  Bach,  and  certainly  very  materially  helped 
Mozart. 

Of  Mozart  we  probably  all  know  something.  Bom  at 
Salzburg,  in  1756,  his  was  a  short  life,  for  he  died  in  1791. 
We  know  of  his  great  precocity;  his  first  compositions 
were  published  when  he  was  six  years  old,  at  which  age 
he  was  already  playing  in  concerts  with  his  eleven-year  old 
sister,  and  was  made  much  of  by  the  titled  people  before 
whom  he  played.  The  rest  of  his  life  is  one  continual 
chronicle  of  concerts  given  all  over  Europe,  interrupted  at 
intervals  by  scarlet  fever,  smallpox,  and  other  illnesses, 
imtil  the  last  one,  typhoid  fever,  caused  his  death.  During 
his  stay  in  Italy  he  wrote  many  operas  in  the  flowery 
Italian  style  which,  luckily,  have  never  been  revived  to 
tarnish  his  name. 

His  first  works   worthy  of   mention   are   the   clavier 


252  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

concertos  and  several  symphonies  and  quartets,  which  date 
from  about  1777.  His  first  important  opera  is  * '  Idomeneo, 
King  of  Crete,"  written  for  the  Mimich  opera.  In  this  he 
adopts  the  principles  of  Gluck,  thus  breaking  away  from 
the  wretched  style  of  the  Italian  opera  of  the  period, 
although  the  work  itself  was  written  in  ItaUan.  His  next 
opera  was  in  German,  "  Die  Entfiihrung  aus  dem  Serail," 
and  was  given  with  great  success  at  Vienna,  in  1782.  It 
was  followed  by  "  The  Marriage  of  Figaro,"  "  Don  Juan," 
and  the  "  Magic  Flute." 

The  story  of  his  death  is  well  known.  A  stranger,  who 
turned  out  to  be  the  steward  of  Count  Walsegg,  came  to 
him  and  ordered  a  requiem,  which  was  played  in  1793  as 
Walsegg's  own  composition.  Mozart  thought  the  man  a 
messenger  from  the  other  world.  He  died  before  he 
completed  the  work.  So  great  was  his  poverty  that  it 
was  difficult  to  get  a  priest  to  attend  him,  and  a  physician 
who  was  summoned  would  come  only  after  the  play 
he  was  attending  was  ended.  He  had  a  "  third  class  " 
funeral,  and  as  a  fierce  storm  was  raging,  no  one  accom- 
panied the  body  to  the  grave.  His  widow  gave  a  concert, 
and  with  the  help  of  the  Emperor  money  enough  was  raised 
to  pay  the  outstanding  debts. 

It  is  difficult  to  give  an  adequate  idea  of  Mozart's 
works.  He  possessed  a  certain  simple  charm  of  expression 
which,  in  its  directness,  has  an  element  of  pathos  lacking 
in  the  comparatively  jolly  light-heartedness  of  Haydn. 
German  opera  profited  much  from  his  practically  adopting 
the  art  principles  of  Gluck,  although  it  must  be  confessed 
that  this  change  in  style  may  have  been  simply  a  phase 


I7TH  AND   i8tH  century  COMPOSERS         253 

of  his  own  individual  art  development.  His  later  sym- 
phonies and  operas  show  us  the  man  at  his  best.  His 
piano  works  and  early  operas  show  the  efiFect  of  the 
"virtuoso  "style,  with  all  its  empty  concessions  to  techni- 
cal display  and  commonplace,  ear-catching  melody. 


XX 

DECLAMATION  IN  MUSIC 

There  is  one  side  of  music  which  I  am  convinced  has 
never  been  fully  studied,  namely,  the  relation  between  it 
and  declamation.  As  we  know,  music  is  a  language  which 
may  delineate  actual  occurrences  by  means  of  onomato- 
poetic  sounds.  By  the  use  of  more  or  less  suggestive 
sounds,  it  may  bring  before  our  minds  a  quasi- visual  image 
of  things  which  we  more  or  less  definitely  feel. 

Now  to  do  all  this,  there  must  be  rules;  or,  to  put  it  more 
broadly,  there  must  be  some  innate  quality  that  enables 
this  art  of  sounds  to  move  in  sympathy  with  our  feelings. 
I  have  no  wish  to  go  into'  detailed  analysis  of  the  subject; 
but  a  superficial  survey  of  it  may  clear  up  certain  points 
with  regard  to  the  potency  of  music  that  we  are  too  often 
wilHng  to  refer  back  to  the  mere  pleasing  physical  sensa- 
tions of  soimd. 

Some  consideration  of  this  subject  may  enable  us  to 
understand  the  much  discussed  question  of  programme 
music.  It  may  also  help  us  to  recognize  the  astonishing 
advance  we  have  made  in  the  art;  an  advance,  which, 
strange  to  say,  consists  in  successively  throwing  off  all 
the  trammels  and  conventionaUties  of  what  is  generally 
considered  artificial,  and  the  striking  development  of  an 
art  which,  with  all  its  astounding  wealth  of  exterior  means, 
aims  at  the  expression  of  elemental  sensations. 

254 


DECLAMATION  IN  MUSIC  255 

Music  may  be  divided  into  four  classes,  each  class 
marking  an  advance  in  receptive  power  on  the  part  of 
the  listener  and  poetic  subtlety  on  that  of  the  composer. 
We  may  Hken  the  first  stage  to  that  of  the  savage  Indians 
who  depict  their  exploits  in  war  and  peace  on  the  rocks, 
fragments  of  bone,  etc.  If  the  painter  has  in  mind,  say, 
an  elephant,  he  carves  it  so  that  its  principal  character- 
istics are  vastly  exaggerated.  A  god  in  such  delineation 
is  twice  the  size  of  the  ordinary  man,  and  so  it  is  in  de- 
scriptive music.  For  instance,  in  Beethoven's  "Pastoral" 
symphony,  the  cuckoo  is  not  a  bird  which  mysteriously 
hides  itself  far  away  in  a  thicket,  the  sound  of  whose  voice 
comes  to  one  like  a  strange,  abrupt  call  from  the  darkness 
of  the  forest;  no,  it  is  unmistakably  a  cuckoo,  reminding 
one  strangely  of  those  equally  advanced  and  extremely 
cheap  art  products  of  Nm-emberg,  made  of  pine  wood, 
and  furnished  with  a  movable  tail. 

The  next  stage  is  still  a  question  of  delineation;  but  of 
delineation  that  leads  us  into  strange  countries,  and  the 
sounds  we  hear  are  but  the  small  door  through  which 
we  pass.  This  music  suggests;  by  way  of  example,  the 
opening  of  the  last  movement  of  the  "  Pastoral  "  sym- 
phony, the  march  from  Tchaikovsky's  "Symphonie  Pa- 
thetique,"  the  opening  of  Raff's  "Im  Walde,"  and  Gold- 
mark's  "  Sakuntala."  Such  music  hints,  and  there  is  a 
certain  potency  in  its  suggestion  which  makes  us  see 
things.  These  two  divisions  of  music  have  been  termed 
"  programme  "  or  "  objective  "  music. 

The  other  two  classes  of  music  have  been  termed  sub- 
jective.   The  first  is  declamation,  pure  and  simple;  the 


256  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

singer  may  be  telling  a  lie,  or  his  sentiment  may  be  insin- 
cere or  false,  what  these  sounds  stand  for,  we  know  from 
the  words,  their  grade  of  passion,  etc.  The  last  phase 
of  our  art  is  much  more  subtle,  and  is  not  amenable  to 
such  accurate  analysis.  If  we  may  liken  music  to  painting, 
we  may,  I  think,  compare  the  latter  to  the  first  three 
stages  of  this  new  language  of  music;  but  it  can  go  no 
further.  For  that  art  must  touch  its  audience  through  a 
palpable  dehneation  of  something  more  or  less  material; 
whereas  music  is  of  the  stuff  dreams  are  made  of.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  say,  however,  that  our  dreams  are 
often  much  more  poignant  than  the  actual  sensations 
caused  by  real  occiurences  would  be.  And  it  is  because 
of  this  strange  quality,  I  think,  that  dreams  and  music 
affect  us  in  much  the  same  manner. 

The  vital  principle  of  Wagner's  art  was  that  he  not  only 
made  startlingly  \avid  pictures  in  his  music,  but  that  he 
made  the  people  in  these  pictures  actually  walk  out  of  the 
frame  and  directly  address  the  audience.  In  other  words, 
his  orchestra  forms  a  kind  of  pictorial  and  psychological 
background  from  which  his  characters  detach  themselves 
and  actually  speak.  If  they  speak  falsely,  the  ever  present 
orchestra,  forming  as  it  were  a  halo,  unmercifully  tears 
away  the  mask,  like  the  mirror  in  old  fairy  tales. 

In  Wagner's  operas,  however,  the  intrusion  of  gross 
palpable  machinery  of  the  stage,  as  well  as  that  of  the 
actor's  art,  too  often  clouds  the  perfect  working  of  this 
wonderful  art  conception.  It  is  just  this  intrusion  of 
materiaUsm  in  Wagner's  music  dramas  which  constitutes 
their  only  weakness. 


DECLAMATION  IN  MUSIC  257 

At  this  point  I  wish  to  insist  upon  the  fact  that  in  music 
it  is  always  through  declamation  that  the  public  is  ad- 
dressed most  directly;  not  only  that,  but  declamation  is 
not  necessarily  tied  by  any  of  the  fetters  of  the  spoken 
word;  nor  is  it  subservient  to  any  of  the  laws  of  articulate 
speech  as  we  meet  with  them  in  language.  This  being 
admitted,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving  my  opinion  that 
opera,  or  rather  the  music  drama,  is  not  the  highest  or  the 
most  perfect  form  of  our  art.  The  music  drama  as  repre- 
sented by  Wagner  (and  he  alone  represents  it)  is  the  most 
perfect  imion  of  painting,  poetry,  and  music  imaginable 
to  our  nineteenth-century  minds.  But  as  regards  repre- 
senting the  highest  development  of  music,  I  find  it  too 
much  hampered  by  the  externals  of  art,  necessary  material- 
ism in  the  production  of  palpable  acts,  and  its  enforced 
subjection  to  the  laws  that  govern  the  spoken  word. 

Music  is  universal;  Wagner's  operas,  by  the  inherent 
necessities  of  speech,  are  necessarily  and  irrevocably 
Germanic.  "  Les  Maitres  Chanteurs,"  "  The  Dwarfs 
of  Niebelheim,"  "  Ehzabeta,"  are  impossibilities,  whereas, 
for  instance,  Beethoven's  "  Eroica  "  labours  under  no  such 
disadvantage.  "  Goodbye,  My  Dearest  Swan,"  invests 
part  of  "  Lohengrin  "  with  a  certain  grotesque  colour  that 
no  one  would  ever  dream  of  if  there  were  no  necessity  for 
the  singer  to  be  tied  down  to  the  exigencies  of  palpable 
and  certainly  most  materialistic  language.  The  thought 
in  itself  is  beautiful,  but  the  necessity  for  the  words  drags 
it  into  the  mud. 

This  certainly  shows  the  difiference  between  the  language 
of  music  and  what  is  called  articulate  speech,  the  purely 


258  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

symbolic  and  artificial  character  of  the  latter,  and  the 
direct,  unhampered  utterance  of  the  former.  Music  can 
invariably  heighten  the  poignancy  of  mere  spoken  words 
(which  mean  nothing  in  themselves),  but  words  can  but 
rarely,  in  fact  I  doubt  whether  they  can  ever,  heighten 
the  effect  of  musical  declamation.  To  my  mind,  listening 
to  Wagner's  operas  may  be  Ukened  to  watching  a  circus 
with  three  rings.  That  containing  the  music  should  have 
our  closest  attention,  for  it  offers  the  most  wonderful  sounds 
ever  imagined  by  any  man.  At  the  same  time  it  is  im- 
possible for  any  human  being  not  to  have  his  attention 
often  lured  away  to  the  other  rings,  in  one  of  which  Fricke's 
rams  vie  with  the  bird  and  the  dragon ;  or  where  the  phan- 
tom ship  seems  as  firmly  fixed  as  the  practical  rainbow, 
which  so  closely  betrays  the  carpenter.  In  the  other  ring 
you  can  actually  hear  the  dull  jokes  of  Mimi  and  the 
Wanderer,  or  hear  Walther  explain  that  he  has  passed  a 
comfortable  night  and  slept  well. 

The  music  to  these  remarkable  scenes,  however,  does 
not  deign  to  stoop  so  low,  but  soars  in  wonderful  poetry  by 
itself,  thus  rejecting  a  union  which,  to  speak  in  the  jargon 
of  our  day,  is  one  of  the  convincing  symptoms  of  deca- 
dence; in  other  words,  it  springs  from  the  same  impulse 
as  that  which  has  produced  the  circus  with  three  rings. 

Simiming  up,  I  wish  to  state  what  I  consider  the  four  ele- 
ments of  music,  namely,  music  that  paints,  music  that  sug- 
gests, music  that  actually  speaks,  and  music  that  almost 
defies  analysis,  and  is  composed  of  the  other  three  elements. 

When  we  were  considering  the  early  works  for  harpsi- 
chord, I  said  that  music  could  define  certain  things  with 


DECLAMATION  IN  MUSIC  259 

quite  reasonable  exactitude.  Just  as  in  the  Egyptian 
hieroglyphics  a  wavy  line  stands  for  water,  so  it  can  in 
music,  with  the  latitude  that  it  can  mean  anything  in 
nature  that  we  might  consider  of  the  same  genre.  Thus, 
the  figure  in  Wagner's  "  Waldweben "  means  in  that 
instance  waves  of  air,  and  we  know  it  by  the  context. 
His  swaying  figure  of  the  "  Prelude  to  Rheingold  "  is  as 
plainly  water  as  is  the  same  figure  used  by  Mendelssohn 
in  his  "  Lovely  Melusina."  Not  that  Wagner  plagiarized, 
but  that  he  and  Mendelssohn  recognized  the  definiteness 
of  musical  suggestions;  which  is  more  than  proved  by 
their  adopting  the  same  musical  ideas  to  indicate  the  same 
things. 

More  indefinite  is  the  analysis  of  our  second  type  or 
element  of  music.  The  successful  recognition  of  this 
depends  not  only  upon  the  susceptibility  of  the  hearer  to 
delicate  ihades  of  sensation,  but  also  upon  the  receptiv- 
ity of  the  hearer  and  his  power  to  accept  freely  and  un- 
restrictedly the  mood  shadowed  forth  by  the  composer. 
Such  music  cannot  be  looked  upon  objectively.  To  those 
who  would  analyze  it  in  such  a  manner  it  must  remain  an 
unknowTi  language;  its  potency  depends  entirely  upon  a 
state  of  willing  subjectivity  on  the  part  of  the  hearer. 

The  third  element,  as  we  know,  consists  of  the  spoken 
word  or  phrase;  in  other  words,  declamation.  In  this, 
however,  the  composer  cuts  loose  entirely  from  what  we 
call  language.  It  is  the  medium  of  expression  of  emotion 
of  every  kind.  It  is  not  restricted  to  the  voice  or  to 
any  instrtmient,  or  even  to  our  sharps,  flats,  and  natiu-als. 
Through  stress  of  emotion  the  sharps  become  sharper. 


26o  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

with  depression  the  flats  become  flatter,  thus  adding 
poignancy  to  the  declamation.  Being  imfettered  by 
words,  this  emotion  has  free  rein.  The  last  element,  as  I 
have  said,  is  extremely  difficult  to  define.  It  is  declama- 
tion that  suggests  and  paints  at  the  same  time.  We  find 
hardly  a  bar  of  Wagner's  music  in  which  this  complex 
form  of  music  is  not  present.  Thus,  the  music  dramas  of 
Wagner,  shorn  of  the  fetters  of  the  actual  spoken  word, 
emancipated  from  the  materialism  of  acting,  painting,  and 
furniture,  may  be  considered  as  the  greatest  achievement 
in  our  art,  an  art  that  does  not  include  the  spoken  word 
called  poetry,  or  painting,  or  sculpture,  and  most  decidedly 
not  architecture  (form),  but  the  essence  of  all  these. 
What  these  aim  to  do  through  passive  exterior  influences, 
music  accomplishes  by  actual  Uving  vibration. 


XXI 

SUGGESTION   IN   MUSIC 

In  speaking  of  the  power  of  suggestion  in  music  I  wish 
at  the  outset  to  make  certain  reservations.  In  the  first 
place  I  speak  for  myself,  and  what  I  have  to  present  is 
merely  an  expression  of  my  personal  opinion;  if  in  any 
way  these  should  incite  to  further  investigation  or  dis- 
cussion, my  object  will  in  part  have  been  attained. 

In  the  second  place,  in  speaking  of  this  art,  one  is  seri- 
ously hampered  by  a  certain  difficulty  in  making  oneself 
understood.  To  hear  and  to  enjoy  music  seems  sufficient 
to  many  persons,  and  an  investigation  as  to  the  causes  of 
this  enjoyment  seems  to  them  superfluous.  And  yet,  imless 
the  public  comes  into  closer  touch  with  the  tone  poet  than 
that  objective  state  which  accepts  with  the  ears  what  is 
intended  for  the  spirit,  which  hears  the  sounds  and  is  deaf 
to  their  import,  unless  the  public  can  separate  the  physical 
pleasure  of  music  from  its  ideal  significance,  our  art,  in 
my  opinion,  cannot  stand  on  a  sound  basis. 

The  first  step  toward  an  appreciation  of  music  should 
be  taken  in  our  preparatory  schools.  Were  young  people 
taught  to  distinguish  between  tones  as  between  colours, 
to  recognize  rhythmic  values,  and  were  they  taught  so  to 
use  their  voices  as  to  temper  the  nasal  tones  of  speech, 
in  after  life  they  would  be  better  able  to  appreciate  and 

261 


262  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

cherish  an  art  of  which  mere  pleasure-giving  sounds  are 
but  a  very  small  part. 

Much  of  the  lack  of  independence  of  opinion  about 
music  arises  from  want  of  familiarity  with  its  material. 
Thus,  after  dinner,  our  forefathers  were  accustomed  to 
sing  catches  which  were  entirely  destitute  of  anything 
approaching  music. 

Music  contains  certain  elements  which  affect  the  nerves 
of  the  mind  and  body,  and  thus  possesses  the  power  of 
direct  appeal  to  the  pubUc,  —  a  power  to  a  great  extent 
denied  to  the  other  arts.  This  sensuous  influence  over  the 
hearer  is  often  mistaken  for  the  aim  and  end  of  all  music. 
With  this  in  mind,  one  may  forgive  the  rather  puzzling 
remarks  so  often  met  with;  for  instance,  those  of  a  certain 
EngUsh  bishop  that  "Music  did  not  affect  him  either 
intellectually  or  emotionally,  only  pleasurably,"  adding, 
"Every  art  should  keep  within  its  own  realm;  and  that  of 
music  was  concerned  with  pleasing  combinations  of  sound." 
In  declaring  that  the  sensation  of  hearing  music  was 
pleasant  to  him,  and  that  to  produce  that  sensation  was 
the  entire  mission  of  music,  the  Bishop  placed  our  art  on  a 
level  with  good  things  to  eat  and  drink.  Many  colleges 
and  universities  of  this  land  consider  music  as  a  kind  of 
boutonnih'e. 

This  estimate  of  music  is,  I  beUeve,  unfortunately  a 
very  general  one,  and  yet,  low  as  it  is,  there  is  a  possibiHty 
of  building  on  such  a  foundation.  Could  such  persons  be 
made  to  recognize  the  existence  of  decidedly  unpleasant 
music,  it  would  be  the  first  step  toward  a  proper  apprecia- 
tion of  the  art  and  its  various  phases. 


SUGGESTION   IN   MUSIC  263 

Mere  beauty  of  sound  is,  in  itself,  purely  sensuous.  It 
is  the  Chinese  conception  of  music  that  the  texture  of  a 
sound  is  to  be  valued;  the  long,  trembling  tone-tint  of  a 
bronze  gong,  or  the  high,  thin  streams  of  sound  from  the 
pipes  are  enjoyed  for  their  ear-filling  qualities.  In  the 
Analects  of  Confucius  and  the  writings  of  Mencius  there 
is  much  mention  of  music,  and  "harmony  of  soimd  that 
shall  fill  the  ears  "  is  insisted  upon.  The  Master  said, 
"  When  the  music  maker  Che  first  entered  on  his  office,  the 
finish  with  the  Kwan  Ts'eu  was  magnificent.  How  it 
filled  the  ears!"  Pere  Amiot  says,  "Music  must  fill  the 
ears  to  penetrate  the  soul."  Referring  to  the  playing  of 
some  pieces  by  Couperin  on  a  spinet,  he  says  that  Chinese 
hearers  thought  these  pieces  barbarous;  the  movement 
was  too  rapid,  and  did  not  allow  sufficient  time  for  them 
to  enjoy  each  tone  by  itself.  Now  this  is  colour  without 
form,  or  soimd  without  music.  For  it  to  become  music, 
it  must  possess  some  quality  which  will  remove  it  from 
the  purely  sensuous.  To  my  mind,  it  is  in  the  power  of 
suggestion  that  the  vital  spark  of  music  lies. 

Before  speaking  of  this,  however,  I  wish  to  touch  upon 
two  things:  first,  on  what  is  called  the  science  of  music; 
and  secondly,  on  one  of  the  sensuous  elements  of  music 
which  enters  into  and  encroaches  upon  all  suggestion. 

If  one  were  called  upon  to  define  what  is  called  the 
intellectual  side  of  music,  he  would  probably  speak  of 
"form,"  contrapuntal  design,  and  the  like.  Let  us  take  up 
the  matter  of  form.  If  by  the  word  "form"  our  theorists 
meant  the  most  poignant  expression  of  poetic  thought 
in  music,  if  they  meant  by  this  word  the  art  of  arranging 


264  CRITICAL  AND   HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

musical  sounds  into  the  most  telling  presentation  of  a 
musical  idea,  I  should  have  nothing  to  say:  for  if  this  were 
admitted  instead  of  the  recognized  forms  of  modern 
theorists  for  the  proper  utterance,  we  should  possess  a 
study  of  the  power  of  musical  sounds  which  might  truly 
justify  the  title  of  musical  intellectuality.  As  it  is,  the 
word  "form"  stands  for  what  have  been  called  "stoutly 
built  periods,"  "subsidiary  themes,"  and  the  like,  a 
happy  combination  of  which  in  certain  prescribed  keys  was 
supposed  to  constitute  good  form.  Such  a  device,  origi- 
nally based  upon  the  necessities  and  fashions  of  the  dance, 
and  changing  from  time  to  time,  is  surely  not  worthy 
of  the  strange  worship  it  has  received.  A  form  of  so 
doubtful  an  identity  that  the  first  movement  of  a  cer- 
tain Beethoven  sonata  can  be  dubbed  by  one  authority 
"sonata-form,"  and  by  another  "free  fantasia,"  certainly 
cannot  lay  claim  to  serious  intellectual  value. 

Form  should  be  a  synonym  for  coherence.  No  idea, 
whether  great  or  small,  can  find  utterance  without  form, 
but  that  form  will  be  inherent  to  the  idea,  and  there  will 
be  as  many  forms  as  there  are  adequately  expressed  ideas. 
In  the  musical  idea,  per  se,  analysis  will  reveal  form. 

The  term  "contrapuntal  development"  is  to  most  tone 
poets  of  the  present  day  a  synonym  for  the  device  of  giving 
expression  to  a  musically  poetic  idea.  Per  se,  counterpoint 
is  a  puerile  juggling  with  themes,  which  may  be  likened 
to  high-school  mathematics.  Certainly  the  entire  web 
and  woof  of  this  "science,"  as  it  is  called,  never  sprang 
from  the  necessities  of  poetic  musical  utterance.  The 
entire  pre-Palestrina  literature  of  music  is  a  conclusive 


SUGGESTION  IN  MUSIC  265 

testimony  as  to  the  non-poetic  and  even  uneuphonious 
character  of  the  invention. 

C  In  my  opinion,  Johann  Sebastian  Bach,  one  of  the 
world's  mightiest  tone  poets,  accompHshed  his  mission, 
not  by  means  of  the  contrapuntal  fashion  of  his  age,  but 
in  spite  of  it.  The  laws  of  canon  and  fugue  are  based 
upon  as  prosaic  a  foundation  as  those  of  the  rondo  and 
sonata  form;  I  find  it  impossible  to  imagine  their  ever  hav- 
ing been  a  spur  or  an  incentive  to  poetic  musical  speech. 
Neither  pure  tonal  beauty,  so-called  "form,"  nor  what  is 
termed  the  intellectual  side  of  music  (the  art  of  counter- 
point, canon,  and  fugue),  constitutes  a  really  vital  factor 
in  music.  jThis  narrows  our  analysis  down  to  two  things, 
namely,  the  physical  effect  of  musical  sound,  and  suggestion. 

The  simplest  manifestations  of  the  purely  sensuous 
eflfect  of  sound  are  to  be  found  in  the  savage's  delight  in 
noise.  In  the  more  civilized  state,  this  becomes  the  sen- 
sation of  mere  pleasure  in  hearing  pleasing  sounds.  It 
enters  into  folk  song  in  the  form  of  the  "Scotch  snap," 
which  is  first  cousin  to  the  Swiss  jodel,  and  is  undoubtedly 
the  origin  of  the  skips  of  the  augmented  and  (to  a  lesser 
degree)  diminished  intervals  to  be  foimd  in  the  music  of 
many  nations.  It  consists  of  the  trick  of  alternating  chest 
tones  with  falsetto.  It  is  a  kind  of  quirk  in  the  voice 
which  pleases  children  and  primitive  folk  alike,  a  simple 
thing  which  has  puzzled  folklorists  the  world  over. 

The  other  sensuous  influence  of  sound  is  one  of  the  most 
powerful  elements  of  music,  and  all  musical  utterance  is 
involved  with  and  inseparable  from  it.  It  consists  of 
repetition,  recurrence,  periodicity.  > 


266  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

Now  this  repetition  may  be  one  of  rhythm,  tone  tint, 
texture,  or  colour,  a  repetition  of  figure  or  of  pitch.  We 
know  that  savages,  in  their  incantation  ceremonies,  keep 
up  a  continuous  drum  beating  or  chant  which,  gradually 
increasing  in  violence,  drives  the  hearers  into  such  a  state 
of  frenzy  that  physical  pain  seems  no  longer  to  exist  for 
them. 

The  value  of  the  recurring  rhythms  and  phrases  of  the 
march  is  well  recognized  in  the  army.  A  body  of  men  will 
instinctively  move  in  cadence  with  such  music.  The  ever 
recurring  lilt  of  a  waltz  rhythm  will  set  the  feet  moving 
imconsciously,  and  as  the  energy  of  the  repetition  increases 
and  decreases,  so  will  the  involuntary  accompanying  phys- 
ical sympathy  increase  or  decrease. 

Berlioz  jokingly  tells  a  story  of  a  ballet  dancer  who  ob- 
jected to  the  high  pitch  in  which  the  orchestra  played,  and 
insisted  that  the  music  be  transposed  to  a  lower  key. 
Cradle  songs  are  fashioned  on  the  same  principle. 

This  sensuous  sympathy  with  recurring  soimds,  rhjrthm, 
and  pitch  has  something  in  common  with  hypnotism, 
and  leads  up  to  what  I  have  called  suggestion  in  music. 

This  same  element  in  a  modified  form  is  made  use  of  in 
poetry,  for  instance,  in  Poe's  "  Raven," 
Quoth  the  raven,  nevermore, 

and  the  repetition  of  colour  in  the  same  author's  "  Scarlet 
Death."  It  is  the  mainspring  (I  will  not  call  it  the  vital 
spark)  of  many  so-called  popular  songs,  the  recipe  for 
which  is  exceedingly  simple.  A  strongly  marked  rhyth- 
mic figure  is  selected,  and  incessantly  repeated  until  the 
hearer's  body  beats  time  to  it.     The  well-known  tunes 


SUGGESTION  IN  MUSIC  267 

"  There'll  Be  a  Hot  Time,"  etc.,  and  "  Ta-ra-ra,  Boom- 
de-ay  "  are  good  examples  of  this  kind  of  music. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  suggestion  in  music:  one  has  been 
called  tone-painting,  the  other  almost  evades  analysis. 

The  term  tone-painting  is  somewhat  unsatisfactory,  and 
reminds  one  of  the  French  critic  who  spoke  of  a  poem 
as  "beautiful  painted  music."  I  believe  that  music  can 
suggest  forcibly  certain  things  and  ideas  as  well  as  vague 
emotions  encased  in  the  so-called  "form"  and  "science" 
of  music. 

If  we  wish  to  begin  with  the  most  primitive  form  of  sug- 
gestion in  music,  we  shall  find  it  in  the  direct  imitation  of 
sounds  in  nature.  We  remember  that  Helmholtz,  Hans- 
lick,  and  their  followers  denied  to  music  the  power  to  sug- 
gest things  in  nature;  but  it  was  somewhat  grudgingly 
admitted  that  music  might  express  the  emotions  caused 
by  them.  In  the  face  of  this,  to  quote  a  well-known 
instance,  we  have  the  "  Pastoral "  symphony  of  Beethoven, 
with  the  thrush,  cuckoo,  and  thunderstorm.  The  birds 
and  the  storm  are  very  plainly  indicated;  but  it  is  not 
possible  for  the  music  to  be  an  expression  of  the  emotions 
caused  by  them,  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  no  emo- 
tions are  caused  by  the  cuckoo  and  thrush,  and  those 
caused  by  thunderstorms  range  all  the  way  from  depres- 
sion and  fear  to  exhilaration,  according  to  the  personahty 
of  individuals. 

That  music  may  imitate  any  rhythmic  sounds  or  melodic 
figure  occurring  in  nature,  hardly  needs  aflirmation.  Such 
devices  may  be  accepted  almost  as  quotations,  and  not  be 
further  considered  here.    The  songs  of  birds,  the  sound 


268  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

made  by  galloping  horses'  feet,  the  moaning  of  the  wind, 
etc.,  are  all  things  which  are  part  and  parcel  of  the  musical 
vocabulary,  intelligible  alike  to  people  of  every  national- 
ity. I  need  hardly  say  that  increasing  intensity  of  sound 
will  suggest  vehemence,  approach,  and  its  visual  synonym, 
growth,  as  well  as  that  decreasing  intensity  will  suggest 
withdrawal,  dwindhng,  and  placidity. 

The  suggestion  brought  about  by  pattern  is  very  famil- 
iar. It  was  one  of  the  first  signs  of  the  breaking  away 
from  the  conventional  trammels  of  the  contrapuntal  style 
of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries.  The  first 
madrigal  of  Thomas  Weelkes  (1590)  begins  with  the  words, 
"Sit  down,"  and  the  musical  pattern  falls  a  fifth.  The 
suggestion  was  crude,  but  it  was  caused  by  the  same 
impulse  as  that  which  suppUed  the  material  for  Wagner's 
"Waldweben,"  Mendelssohn's  "Lovely  Melusina,"  and  a 
host  of  other  works. 

The  fact  that  the  pattern  of  a  musical  phrase  can  sug- 
gest kinds  of  motion  may  seem  strange;  but  could  we,  for 
example,  imagine  a  spinning  song  with  broken  arpeggios? 
Should  we  see  a  spear  thrown  or  an  arrow  shot  on  the 
stage  and  hear  the  orchestra  playing  a  phrase  of  an  undu- 
lating pattern,  we  should  at  once  reahze  the  contradic- 
tion. Mendelssohn,  Schumann,  Wagner,  Liszt,  and  prac- 
tically everyone  who  has  wTitten  a  spinning  song,  has  used 
the  same  pattern  to  suggest  the  turning  of  a  wheel.  That 
such  widely  different  men  as  Wagner  and  Mendelssohn 
should  both  have  adopted  the  same  pattern  to  suggest  un- 
dulating waves  is  not  a  mere  chance,  but  clearly  shows 
the  potency  of  the  suggestion. 


SUGGESTION  EN  MUSIC  269 

The  suggestion  conveyed  by  means  of  pitch  is  one  of 
the  strongest  in  music.  Vibrations  increasing  beyond  two 
hundred  and  fifty  trillions  a  second  become  luminous.  It 
is  a  curious  coincidence  that  our  highest  vibrating  musical 
sounds  bring  with  them  a  well-defined  suggestion  of  hght, 
and  that  as  the  pitch  is  lowered  we  get  the  impression  of 
ever  increasing  obscurity.  To  illustrate  this,  I  have  but 
to  refer  you  to  tht  Prelude  to  "Lohengrin."  Had  we  no 
inkling  as  to  its  meaning,  we  should  still  receive  the  sug- 
gestion of  glittering  shapes  in  the  blue  ether. 

Let  us  take  the  opening  of  the  "Im  Walde"  symphony 
by  Raff  as  an  example;  deep  shadow  is  unmistakably  sug- 
gested. Herbert  Spencer's  theory  of  the  influence  of  emo- 
tion on  pitch  is  well  known  and  needs  no  confirmation. 
This  properly  comes  under  the  subject  of  musical  speech, 
a  matter  not  to  be  considered  here.  Sufl&ce  it  to  say  that 
the  upward  tendency  of  a  musical  phrase  can  suggest  exal- 
tation, and  that  a  downward  trend  may  suggest  depres- 
sion, the  intensity  of  which  will  depend  upon  the  intervals 
used.  As  an  instance  we  may  quote  the  "Faust"  over- 
ture of  Wagner,  in  which  the  pitch  is  used  emotionally  as 
well  as  descriptively.  If  the  meaning  I  have  found  in  this 
phrase  seems  to  you  far-fetched,  we  have  but  to  give  a 
higher  pitch  to  the  motive  to  render  the  idea  absolutely 
impossible. 

The  suggestion  offered  by  movement  is  very  obvious, 
for  music  admittedly  may  be  stately,  deliberate,  hasty,  or 
furious,  it  may  march  or  dance,  it  may  be  grave  or  flippant. 

Last  of  all  I  wish  to  speak  of  the  suggestion  conveyed  by 
means  of  tone-tint,  the  blending  of  timbre  and  pitch.     It 


270  CRITICAL  AND  HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 

is  essentially  a  modern  element  in  music,  and  in  our  delight 
in  this  marvellous  and  potent  aid  to  expression  we  have 
carried  it  to  a  point  of  development  at  which  it  threatens 
to  dethrone  what  has  hitherto  been  our  musical  speech, 
melody,  in  favour  of  what  corresponds  to  the  shadow 
languages  of  speech,  namely,  gesture  and  facial  expression. 
Just  as  these  shadow  languages  of  speech  may  distort  or 
even  absolutely  reverse  the  meaning  of  the  spoken  word, 
so  can  tone  colour  and  harmony  change  the  meaning  of  a 
musical  phrase.  This  is  at  once  the  glory  and  the  danger 
of  our  modern  music.  Overwhelmed  by  the  new-found 
powers  of  suggestion  in  tonal  tint  and  the  riot  of  hitherto 
undreamed  of  orchestral  combinations,  we  are  forgetting 
that  permanence  in  music  depends  upon  melodic  speech. 

In  my  opinion,  it  is  the  line,  not  the  colour,  that  will  last. 
That  harmony  is  a  potent  factor  in  suggestion  may  be 
seen  from  the  fact  that  Cornelius  was  able  to  write  an 
entire  song  pitched  upon  one  tone,  the  accompaniment 
being  so  varied  in  its  harmonies  that  the  Ustener  is  de- 
ceived into  attributing  to  that  one  tone  many  shades  of 
emotion. 

In  all  modem  music  this  element  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant. If  we  refer  again  to  the  "Faust"  overture  of 
Wagner,  we  will  perceive  that  although  the  melodic  trend 
and  the  pitch  of  the  phrase  carry  their  suggestion,  the 
roll  of  the  drum  which  accompanies  it  throws  a  sinister 
veil  over  the  phrase,  making  it  impressive  in  the  extreme. 

The  seed  from  which  our  modern  wealth  of  harmony 
and  tone  colour  sprang  was  the  perfect  major  triad.  The 
raison  d'etre  and  development  of  this  combination  of  tones 


.     SUGGESTION  IN  MUSIC  271 

belong  to  the  history  of  music.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  for 
some  psychological  reason  this  chord  (with  also  its  minor 
form)  has  still  the  same  significance  that  it  had  for  the 
monks  of  the  Middle  Ages.  It  is  perfect.  Every  com- 
plete phrase  must  end  with  it.  The  attempts  made  to 
emancipate  music  from  the  tyranny  of  this  combination 
of  sounds  have  been  in  vain,  showing  that  the  suggestion 
of  finahty  and  repose  contained  in  it  is  irrefutable. 

Now  if  we  depart  from  this  chord  a  sensation  of  unrest 
is  occasioned  which  can  only  subside  by  a  progression  to 
another  triad  or  a  return  to  the  first.  With  the  develop- 
ment of  our  modern  system  of  tonality  we  have  come  to 
think  tonally;  and  a  chord  lying  outside  of  the  key  in 
which  a  musical  thought  is  conceived  will  carry  with  it 
a  sense  of  confusion  or  mystery  that  our  modem  art  of 
harmony  and  tone  colour  has  made  its  own.  Thus,  while 
any  simple  low  chords  accompanying  the  first  notes  of 
Raff's  "Im  Walde  "  symphony,  given  by  the  horns  and  vio- 
lins, would  suggest  gloom  pierced  by  the  gleams  of  light, 
the  remoteness  of  the  chords  to  the  tonality  of  C  major 
gives  a  suggestion  of  mystery;  but  as  the  harmony  ap- 
proaches the  triad  the  mystery  dissolves,  letting  in  the 
gleam  of  sunUght  suggested  by  the  horn. 

Goldmark's  overture  to  "Sakuntala"  owes  its  subtle 
suggestion  to  much  the  same  cause.  Weber  made  use  of  it 
in  his  "Freischiitz,"  Wagner  in  his  "Tarnhelm"  motive, 
Mendelssohn  in  his  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  Tchai- 
kovsky in  the  opening  of  one  of  his  symphonies. 

In  becoming  common  property,  so  to  speak,  this  impor- 
tant element  of  musical  utterance  has  been  dragged  through 


272  CRITICAL  AND  fflSTORICAL  ESSAYS 

the  mud;  and  modern  composers,  in  their  efforts  to  raise 
it  above  the  commonplace,  have  gone  to  the  very  edge  of 
what  is  physically  bearable  in  the  use  of  tone  colour  and 
combination.  While  this  is  but  natural,  owing  to  the  ap- 
propriation of  some  of  the  most  poetic  and  suggestive  tone 
colours  for  ignoble  dance  tunes  and  doggerel,  it  is  to  my 
mind  a  pity,  for  it  is  elevating  what  should  be  a  means  of 
adding  power  and  intensity  to  musical  speech  to  the  im- 
portance of  musical  speech  itself.  Possibly  Strauss's  "  Thus 
Spake  Zarathustra"  may  be  considered  the  apotheosis  of 
this  power  of  suggestion  in  tonal  colour,  and  in  it  I  believe 
we  can  see  the  tendency  I  allude  to.  This  work  stuns  by 
its  glorious  magnificence  of  tonal  texture;  the  sugges- 
tion, in  the  opening  measures,  of  the  rising  sun  is  a  mighty 
example  of  the  overwhelming  power  of  tone  colour.  The 
upward  sweep  of  the  music  to  the  highest  regions  of  light 
has  much  of  splendour  about  it;  and  yet  I  remember  once 
hearing  in  London,  simg  in  the  street  at  night,  a  song  that 
seemed  to  me  to  contain  a  truer  germ  of  music. 

For  want  of  a  better  word  I  will  call  it  ideal  suggestion. 
It  has  to  do  with  actual  musical  speech,  and  is  difficult  to 
define.  The  possession  of  it  makes  a  man  a  poet.  If 
we  look  for  analogy,  I  may  quote  from  Browning  and 
Shakespeare. 

Dearest,  three  months  ago 
When  the  mesmerizer,  Snow, 
With  his  hand's  first  sweep 
Put  the  earth  to  sleep. 

Browning,  A  Lovers'  Quarrel. 


SUGGESTION  IN  MUSIC  273 

Daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  takes 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty;  Violets  dim, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes. 

Shakespeare,  Winter's  Tale. 

For  me  this  defies  analysis,  and  so  it  is  with  some  things 
in  music,  the  charm  of  which  cannot  be  ascribed  to  physical 
or  mental  suggestion,  and  certainly  not  to  any  device  of 
counterpoint  or  form,  in  the  musical  acceptance  of  the 
word. 


INDEX 


A. 

Accents,  92. 
Adagio,  189. 
/Eolian  mode,  83. 
iEschylus,  70,  76. 
Albert!  bass,  197. 
Allemande,  182, 189, 195. 
Amati,  138. 
Ambros,  205. 

Ambrose,  98,  99,  102,  104. 
Amiot,  50,  57,  61,  263. 
Anapasst,  75. 

Andaman  Islanders,  3,  5, 6. 
Animals,  13. 
Arabian,  152,  158. 
Architecture,  192,  225. 
Arion,  76. 
Aristides,  74,  84. 
Aristophanes,  91,  92. 
Aristotle,  49. 
Aristoxenus,  73,  81. 
Assyrian,  48. 
Auber,  216,  217,  219. 

B. 

Bach,  C.  P.  E.,  191,  199, 

247,  248,  251. 

Bach,  J.  S.,  136,  185,  186, 
191.  231,  239,  241,  244, 

248,  265. 
Bagpipe,  32,  93. 
Ballet,  177. 


200, 

187, 
247, 


ars 


Bamboo,  52. 

Banjo,  29. 

Basso  continue,  237. 

Bassoon,  139. 

Bazin,  217. 

Beethoven,  14,  16,  17,  22,  185, 
189,  190,  196,  197,  199,  200, 
20I,  202,  203,  234,  247,  250, 
267. 

Bell,  7,  8,  46. 

Bellini,  210. 

Berlioz,  14,  65,  219,  266. 

Bizet,  144,  151,  197,  217,  219, 

222. 
Boieldieu,  216,  217, 
Bolero,  182. 
Borneo,  3,  5. 
Bourrfie,  179. 
Brahma,  36,  37. 
Brahminism,  36,  39. 
Brahms,  203,  224. 
Brevis,  118,  120. 
Browning,  198,  272. 
Buddha,  36. 
Burma  h,  23,  64,  65. 
Bumey,  194. 
Byrd,  184. 

C. 

Caccini,  177,  209. 
Cachucha,  182. 
Canon,  205. 
Cantata,  188. 


276 


INDEX 


Cantus  firmiis,  130,  305. 

Ceylon,  5. 

Chaconne,  181. 

Chaldeans,  49. 

Charlemagne,  105. 

Che,  50,  66. 

Cherubini,  213. 

China,  16,  18,  23,  49. 

Chinese  folksong,  59. 

Chinese  music,  144,  147,  263. 

Chinese  orchestra,  55. 

Chinese  scale,  62. 

Chinese  theatre,  61. 

Chopin,  27,  204. 

Christianity,  34. 

Christians  (Early),  96. 

Chrotta  (Crwth),  137. 

Church  music,  206., 

Clarinet,  13,  139. 

Clavichord,  134. 

Clavicitherium,  136. 

Clef,  116. 

Colour  in  music,  200,  263,  270. 

Comedy,  76. 

Confucius,  49,  56,  60,  263. 

Conjunct  tetrachord,  86. 

Constantinople,  103. 

Corelli,  138,  189. 

Cornet,  177. 

CoiFCDte  (Courante),  181,  185, 

189. 
Coucy,  Raoul  de,  118. 
Council  of  Laodicaea,  99. 
Council  of  Trent,  176. 
Counterpoint,    129,    205,    208, 

264. 
Couperin,  136,  191,  200,  210. 
Cristofori,  136. 
Czardas,  183. 


Dactyl,  25,  26,  69,  75. 

Dance,  24,  27,  28,  78,  97,  126, 

149,  178. 
Dance  forms,  modern,  182. 
Dance  forms,  old,  179,  180. 
Dante,  207. 
Darwin,  i,  16. 
Declamation,  26,  27,  254. 
Delibes,  218. 

Descant  (discant),  129,  205. 
Diaphony, 128,  129. 
Diatonic,  45. 
Didymus,  81. 
Dionysian,  75. 
Disjunct  tetrachord,  86. 
Dithyramb,  76. 
Donizetti,  210. 
Dorian,  75,83.-— 
Drum,  4,  6,  7,  8, 9, 10, 11, 12,  25, 

30,  33- 
Drum  organ,  65. 
Dulcimer,  33,  136,  49. 


Egypt,  16,  34,  43,  152. 
Emerson,  16. 
Embellishments,  238. 
Enharmonic  (Greek),  88. 
Epitrite,  75. 

Equal  temperament,  187,  241. 
Euclid,  79. 


Fantaisie-mazurka,  184, 
Faux  bourdon,  130,  163. 
Fear,  2. 
Feast  of  asses,  125,  206. 


INDEX 


177 


Field,  204. 

Figured  bass,  237. 

Flageolet,  177. 

Flats,  16,  39,  112. 

Flute,  6, 13,  30, 31, 43, 44, 45, 67, 

82,  138,  177. 
Flute  players,  91. 
Folk  song,  16,  17,  141. 
Folk  song  (Chinese),  59. 
Folk  song  (German),  152. 
Form,  24,  25,  263,  264. 
Fourth  (augmented),  128. 
Franco  of  Cologne,  117, 123. 
Frauenlob,  Heinrich,  167,  168. 
Froberger,  199. 
Fugue,  187,  206. 
Fusa,  120. 

G. 

Galop,  183. 

Galuppi,  198. 

Gamut,  109. 

Gardiner,  19. 

Gavotte,  180. 

Gerbert,  16,  225. 

Gesture,  17. 

Gesualdo,  236. 

Gigue,  182,  189,  197. 

Gluck,  210,  212,  213,  214,  215, 

231,  252. 
Goethe,  i,  22. 
Goldmark,  271. 
Gong,  8,  53. 
Gothic  architecture,  21. 
Gottfried  von  Strasburg,  165. 
Gounod,  217,  219,  220. 
Greek  idea  of  music,  70. 
Greek  modes,  83. 
Greeks,  27,  30,  42. 


Gregorian  chants,  104,  106,  208. 
Gregorian  modes,  100. 
Gregory  (Pope),  100,  102,  104. 
Gr6try,  213,  218. 
Guarnerius,  138. 
Guido  d'Arezzo,  108,  iij. 
Guitar,  6,  29. 
Gypsy  music,  145. 

H. 

Habanera,  182. 

Hale,  Adam  de  la,  207. 

Hal6vy,  217. 

Hamlet,  197. 

Handel,  22,  177,  231,  239,  241. 

Harmonics,  20,  80. 

Harmony,  23,  39,  44,  147,  i^, 

208,  270.  ~^ 

Harp,  6,  29,  33,  43,  44,  45,  48, 

177. 
Harpsichord,  134. 
Hasse,  210,  227,  229,  230. 
Haydn,  193,  197,  200,  247,  248, 

252. 
Hebrews,  32,  33,  34. 
Helmholtz,  42. 
Herodotus,  43,  46,  47. 
H6rold,  216,  217. 
Hexachord,  no. 
Hexameter,  69. 
Hindus,  35.  i 

Homer,  27,  29,  69. 
Horn,  6,  7,  140. 
Hucbald,  107,  122,  127,  208. 
Hungarian,  143,  145,  159, 
Hurdy-gurdy,  137. 
Hypodorian  mode,  84. 
Hypolydian  mode,  83. 
Hypophrygian  mode,  83. 


278 


INDEX 


Iambus,  25. 

Impassioned  speech,  19,  28. 

India,  16. 

Indians,  143,  152. 

Ionic,  75. 

Isis,  8. 

J. 

Jahn,  194. 

Japanese,  53,  64. 
Javanese,  13,  64,  65. 
Jenghiz  Khan,  30. 
Jommelli,  195,  230. 
Jongleurs,  131,  160,  162,  207. 
Josquin  des  Pres,  176. 

K. 

Keren,  ^3. 

Kin,  33,  so,  59- 

King,  50. 

Kinnor,  33. 

Kithara,  43,  86. 

Koto,  66. 

Kuhnau,  195,  199,  245. 

L. 

Lasus,  73,  90. 

Leitmotiv,  214. 

Lepsius,  48. 

Levites,  33. 

Liszt,  14s,  146,  151,  194,  204, 

220,  233. 
Locice,  230. 
Loeilly,  191. 

London  Stock  Exchange,  19. 
Longa,  118,  120. 
Longfellow,  69. 
Loure,  180. 


Lully,  196,  212,  240. 

Lute,  28,  29,  30,  31,  43,  44,  131, 

137,  177,  208. 
Luther,  176. 
Lydian  mode,  83. 
Lyre,  6,  28,  29,  30,  31,  32,  43,  69, 

136. 

M. 

Maanim,  32. 

Macaulay,  211, 

Macbeth,  64. 

Macfarren,  213. 

Machol,  32. 

Magrepha,  33. 

Mandolin,  137. 

Maneros,  46. 

March,  181,  183. 

Marine  trumpet,  137, 

Marpurg,  225. 

Masque,  177. 

Mass6,  217. 

Massenet,  218,  223,  224. 

Mastersingers,  131,  165. 

Matheson,  210,  225. 

Maxima,  119,  120. 

Mazurka,  182. 

M6hul,  197,  212,  213,  214. 

Melody,  14,  15,  18,  26^  28,  148, 

190. 
Mencius,  54,  263. 
Mendelssohn,  202,  203,  233,  234, 

259,  268,  271. , 
Metre,  26,  74. 
Mexico,  66,  67. 
Meyerbeer,  210,  213,  217,  218, 

224,  233. 
Millet,  192. 
Minima,  119,  120. 


INDEX 


279 


Minnesingers,  118, 131, 164,  166, 

170,  173- 
Minuet,  181,  189. 
Miracle  plays,  207. 
Mixolydian  mode,  83. 
Mixtures  (organ),  133, 
Mode,  39,  83. 

Mona  Lisa,  13.  '      • 

Monochord,  80,  134. 
Monteverde,  236. 
Moors,  -152. 
Moralities,  207. 
Morley,  185. 
Morris  dance,  160. 
Motive,  179,  190. 
Mozart,  193,  200,  232,  239,  247, 

251. 
Musette,  180. 
Mysteries,  125,  206,  207,  208. 

N. 

Nationalism,  151,  153. 
Nebel,  33. 
Nero,  94. 
Neumes,  115. 
Notation,  114,  208. 
Notation  (Greek  system),  88. 
Nithart,  167,  171. 

O. 

Oboe,  13,  44,  139,  177. 
Ockeghem,  177. 
Octave  (Greek  system),  86. 
Opera,  178,  206,  208,  210. 
Organ,  33,  94,  132. 
Organ  pedals,  134. 
Organs  (portable),  134. 
Organum,  128. 


Orientalism,  151,  173,  204. 
Osiris,  8,  47. 
Overture,  189,  216. 

P. 

Paean,  75, 

Palestrina,   176,   186,   205,   210. 

246. 
Pan's  Pipe,  9,  10,  11,  12,  62. 
Pantomime,  93,  177. 
Passecaille,  181. 
Passepied,  182. 
Passion  plays,  125,  206. 
Pavane,  182. 
Pentatonic,  149,  151. 
Pergolesi,  210. 
Peri,  209,  231. 
Period,  179. 

Periodicity,  24,  28,  265. 
Peru,  66,  67. 
Pescetti,  195. 
Phrase,  179,  190. 
Phrygian  mode,  76,  83. 
Piano,  29,  230. 
Piccini,  213. 
Pindar,  27,  72,  90. 
Pipe,  6,  10,  II,  13,  14,  28,  30, 

37,44- 
Pitch,  269. 
Plato,  II,  49. 
Plutarch,  195. 
Poe,  266. 
Poetry,  24. 
Polacca,  182. 
Polka,  183. 
Polonaise,  182. 
Porpora,  210. 
Portuguese,  152. 
Prelude,  189. 


28o 


INDEX 


Prescott,  66. 

Procrustes,  27. 

Programme    music,    190,     199, 

203,  255. 
Psalms,  34. 
Psaltery,  33,  131. 
Ptolemy,  85. 
Purcell,  176. 
Pythagoras,  49,  72,  79,  82,  97. 


Quarter-tones,  38,  39. 

R. 
Raff,  269,  271. 
Raga,  39,  40. 
Rameau,  136,  178,  186,  191,  196, 

199,  210,  239,  240. 
Ravanastron,  137. 
Rebec,  138. 
Reed,  45. 
Reichardt,  194. 
Repetition,  266. 
Rhythm,  14,  15,  25,  26,  27,  74, 

117,  142,  190. 
Rigaudon, 180. 
Rig-Veda,  35. 
Rimsky- Korsakoff,  224. 
Robin  et  Marian,  207,  208. 
Rockstro,  194. 
RoUe,  196. 
Romans,  46. 
Romanticism,  212. 
Rosseau,  212. 
Rossini,  210,  215,  217. 
Rowbotham,  23,  68. 
Rubinstein,  224. 
Ruskin,  21. 
Russia,  152. 


Sachs,  Hans,  166. 

Saint-Mark's  Cathedral,  205. 

St.  Pierre,  Bernardin  de,  211. 

Saint-Saens,  219,  222,  224. 

Saltarello,  183. 

Samisen,  66. 

Sappho,  72,  83. 

Sarabande,  160,  180,  189,  197. 

Sarti,  213. 

Scale,  39,  107. 

Scale  (Chinese),  62. 

Scarlatti,  A.,  238. 

Scarlatti,  D,,  184,  185,  195,  210, 

238. 
Schauspiel,  232. 
Scherzo,  189. 
Schofar,  33. 
Schubart,  194. 
Schubert,  20,  23,  196,  197,  201, 

203. 
Schumaim,  loi,  199,  203,  204, 

233- 
Scotch,  41,  147,  152,  265. 
Scotland,  23. 
Scribe,  218. 
Section,  179. 
Selah,  34.  " 

Semangs,  3,  5. 
Semibrevis,  118,  120. 
Semifusa,  120. 
Sentences,  decayed,  17. 
Sequences,  iii. 
Set,  8,  47. 

Shakespeare,  28,  272. 
Sharps,  16,  39,  112. 
Shedlock,  195. 
Siamese,  64,  65. 
Singspiel,  213,  217. 


INDEX 


281 


Sistrum,  8,  32,  43,  46,  47. 
Sittard,  194. 
Solmisation,  108,  iii. 
Sonata,  27,  178,  189,  190. 
Sonata  form,  27,  188. 
Sophocles,  70,  76. 
Spanish,  152,  159. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  22,  269. 
Sperling,  195. 
Spinet,  135. 
Spondee,  25,  69,  75. 
Spontini,  210,  212,  213,  214. 
Stesichorus,  7. 
Stradivarius,  138. 
Strauss,  J.,  27. 
Strauss,  R.,  200,  203,  272. 
Suggestion,  255,  260,  261. 
Suite,  188,  190. 
Sylvester  (Pope),  99. 
Symphonic  poem,  178. 
Symphony,  27,  178,  248. 


Talmud,  33. 

Tambourin  (dance),  180. 
Tambourine,  7,  33. 
Tannhause--,  167,  168. 
Tarantella,  183. 
Tartini,  138. 
Tasmania,  3,  5. 
Tchaikovsky,  224,  271. 
Tennyson,  71. 
Terpander,  73. 
Tetrachord,  83,  124. 
Theophrastus,  i,  74. 
Thibaut  of  Navarre,  118. 
Thibet,  12. 
Thirds,  124. 
Thomas,  A.,  221. 


Tierra  del  Fuegians,  3,  4,  6. 

Timbrel,  33. 

Time  signs,  119,  120. 

Tone  tint,  270. 

Tourte,  138. 

Tragedy,  76. 

Treble,  163,  205. 

Trochee,  25,  28,  75. 

Trombone,  140,  177. 

Troubadours,  118,  131,  160,  165, 

166,  171,  173,  207. 
Trumpet,  6,  10,  11,  12,  13,  14,, 

32,  43,  140. 
Typhon,  8. 


Vaudeville,  207. 

Vedas,  36,  39. 

Vega,  Garcilaso  de  la,  13,  66. 

Verdi,  210. 

Viadana,  236,  237. 

Vina,  38. 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  13. 

Viola,  32. 

Viola  da  gamba,  177. 

Violin,  29,  32,  138. 

Violoncello,  177. 

Viotti,  138. 

Virginal,  135. 

Vishnu,  38. 

Vocal  music,  23. 

W. 

Wagner,  14,  15,  17,  21,  22,  27,. 
147,  166,  168,  186,  201,  206, 
214,  217,  218,  224,  233,  234, 
256,  257,  258,  259,  260,  268, 
269,  271. 


282  INDEX 

Walpole,  211.  Weelkes,  184,  268. 

Wasielewski,  194.  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  165, 
Walter  von  der  Vogelweide,  167. 

Waltz,  27,  181,  183.  Z. 

Weber,  14,  210,  213,  216,  218,      Zarlino,  81. 

219,  271.  Zither,  33. 

Weddahs,  5,  6.  Zoroaster,  12. 


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